


Spinning Off Course

by Hijja



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-22 08:59:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13760700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hijja/pseuds/Hijja
Summary: "Awful things have happened when wizards have meddled with time..."





	Spinning Off Course

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Amanuensis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amanuensis/gifts).



> Warnings: non-con, dub-con, breathplay, voyeurism, bondage, assorted darker kinks
> 
> Written for Merry Smutmas 2006 as a gift for the ever-brilliant Amanuensis, a measly, humble attempt to repay her for the incredible kick her fics gave me over the years! Thanks to Anne Phoenix, Bellona Black, Lazy Neutrino and Thea for beta, concrit and hand-holding!

"No, Harry, don't!"

Harry heard Hermione's cry just as the Time Spinner started to whirr between his fingers, its chain as cold as ice-mice feet around the nape of his neck.

The world slowed to a crawl - Hermione storming out of the front door of number twelve Grimmauld Place, a small shadow scurrying down the steps before her in an uneven gait: three furry paws, one silver clicking on stone. The horror on Hermione's face twisting in slow motion just as the spinning of the artefact fell out of rhythm. A silver wire was coming loose from the perfect circle as if it had been ripped out... or bitten off, by a rat.

A knot of fear tightened in Harry's stomach. He lifted his hand to still the whirring Spinner, then paused. The world outside had already turned to a blur that washed out Hermione, and the rat, and whirled around him like a top spun by a mad deity. Streaks of silver cut through the buzz, like a raw wire scraping at the edge of reality.

Vibration rather than noise thrummed through his body right up to the roots of his teeth. It went on and on, bouncing him about like a leaf. He'd expected the trip to take longer than his travel by Time Turner in third year, but this was wrong. The aggressive, jerky rumble that threatened to turn his brain to mush and sent painful jolts through every nerve in his face was nothing like Professor McGonagall had said time travel would feel. The Spinner was broken, out of joint and-

And then it stopped.

Harry swayed and fell to his knees on a hard surface. His mind was still spinning, but his body was not; vertigo made his mouth water, and bile bubbled up from his stomach. He squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to draw short, careful breaths. Nausea retreated just below the danger zone, and when Harry cracked an eye open, the world did not tilt out of order again.

He found himself kneeling on the dirty pavement of Grimmauld Place, only a few dozen feet from where he'd started out. Looking down, he saw that he'd landed between a spat-out wad of chewing gum and a greasy chip wrapper. His wand was tucked safely into his pocket, he discovered after a frantic grope. The Time Spinner, however...

Inactive, it looked like a hand-sized talisman or a piece of exotic jewellery. Dozens of silver wires circled each other inside a broad ring stamped with runes and magical symbols. Activated, the silver rings fanned out into an oval, egg-sized structure, spinning inside each other, each ring smaller than the last, the smallest being no bigger than a fingernail.

Now, thanks to Pettigrew, the Spinner's delicate shape was dented, and one of the fragile wires had been bitten right through. The two ends stuck out like shrivelled metal worms.

"Fucking bastard!" Harry cursed, voice raw. They had known that the Fidelius on Grimmauld Place had ended with Albus Dumbledore's death, but that Voldemort had his foot - his rat! - inside the place already...

As soon as his legs had stopped shaking, Harry retreated into the shadow of a barricaded-up kiosk, more inconspicuous than kneeling in full sight - and robes - in the middle of the pavement. It was later in the day than when he'd set off in the early afternoon. Lengthening shadows were already turning the side streets into sinister tunnels. The signs of destitution in the neighbourhood, however, were not as glaring as Harry was used to. There were fewer broken windows, and the three-storey tenement of number ten Grimmauld Place that had always dominated the street like a giant eyesore sported less graffiti. Even its fire ladders didn't look like the lethal rust traps they'd become over time.

Flickering lights danced behind one window, open rather than smashed, as if the inhabitants were burning candles. A huge bed sheet sporting a peace sign hung from an iron balcony railing. The kiosk behind Harry, barred up behind a metal grille for the night, hadn't been there in his time, replaced by a stained and spray-painted concrete wall to hide the nightmare sight of number ten's back garden from the eye.

Harry stared at the small gap between eleven and thirteen Grimmauld Place and closed his fingers around his wand. Perhaps the Time Spinner, damaged as it was, had brought him to the right place after all. He slipped the silver chain under his robe and t-shirt, cradling it protectively against his skin. Perhaps it would even carry him back.

His eyes probed the length of the street for passers-by before he crossed, wand hidden in the sleeve of his robe. There was a barely man-sized passage between the two houses, strewn with rubbish, and there, like a long-forgotten bit of plumbing, the rusty iron pipe which announced that there was, indeed, a world hidden beyond the debris. A cat streaked past him, dust-coloured and disappearing through the fence of number thirteen in pursuit of its own agenda.

Harry touched the pipe with the tip of his wand, and the aged, dirty walls of both houses rippled, making room for the gloomy facade of the place Harry had just left. The dark front of number twelve bent backwards to make room for the flight of stairs that tumbled from the entrance, groaning and twitching one last time before laying itself down at Harry's feet.

Harry stared at the elaborate snake doorknocker. He hadn't allowed himself to think about Sirius, not really, even while they had made their plans for his trip. So much could go wrong; too much to get his hopes up only to have them dashed. If Harry walked into this house, his godfather might not recognise him - hell, he couldn't recognise him - but worse, he might not even believe him. Perhaps he wouldn't be there at all. Harry hadn't allowed Sirius's death to shatter him the first time, and it had cost every ounce of strength he'd possessed. He'd shoved the wound to the back of his mind and let it fester there, determined not to look. To get Sirius back now, only to lose him again... Harry wasn't sure he could bear it.

Both Ron and Hermione had offered to make the trip in his place. But even if it hadn't been for the danger, Harry was the only one Sirius might recognise. People kept telling him how much he resembled James. Sirius just had to believe his best friend's lookalike.

Stop wasting time, Harry growled at himself. The Time Spinner's calibrations allowed him little time to return to the present. Seven hours, no more, or McGonagall's and Hermione's complex calculations would all be worthless and he might spin around in-between past and future forever. He sounded the knocker, and the way it filled the room behind with a melodious boom told Harry beyond any doubt that he was demanding entrance to a wizarding dwelling.

Harry hoped it wouldn't be Kreacher who opened the door, because he didn't think he'd be able stop himself from cursing the infernal creature on sight. If it hadn't been for Kreacher, he would already have Slytherin's locket and wouldn't have to sneak around in the past with a broken Time Spinner. The creepy little monster had hidden the locket Regulus Black had kept at Grimmauld Place, then bewitched the Black family axe to send him the same way as his mother, traditional style. Hermione, who'd found the pieces on the living room carpet the next morning, had fainted on the spot.

Only a true son of the Noble and Ancient House of Black, had been scrawled on the mocking note still clutched between Kreacher's spindly, bloodstained fingers, would be able to find it. And those, of course, were all dead, even poor Malfoy who'd been discovered, ripped to shreds by werewolf teeth, in a filthy side street of Knockturn Alley. Since Harry didn't have time to wait for Tonks and Remus to breed, it had ultimately brought him to the doorstep of Grimmauld Place, twenty years removed.

The door swung open, perfectly noiseless despite being solid wood, and Harry recoiled. It wasn't a house-elf sticking its nose out, but a young man, lounging against the doorjamb with an expectant expression that turned to surprise when he saw Harry.

Harry stared back, encountered blue eyes and tousled black hair that fell in a purposeful way rather than Harry's own mess. "Sirius?" he blurted out stupidly.

The boy's eyebrows curved up. "Not likely," he drawled. Now Harry realised that his eyes were a darker shade than Sirius's sharp grey-blue, the mouth fuller and drawn in a slight pout. His expression - and even more so the drawl - reminded Harry of Malfoy, colouring notwithstanding. "Who are you?"

"Harry," Harry said. "Harry Potter."

If anything, the boy's sneer deepened. "Are you trying to make fun of me in my own house?" he snapped. "I know Potter. You're not him."

"Look," Harry interrupted before the boy could throw the door shut in his face, "could I talk to Sirius? Is he here?"

The boy gave him a speculative look. "Of course he's here. But the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black is entertaining tonight - and you have not been invited."

"Please, just a few minutes," Harry pleaded. He had to get in there! "It's really important. Couldn't you just... fetch him for a moment?" The last thing he wanted was to get Sirius in trouble with his mother.

The boy had to be Regulus Black, although he looked older than Harry had pictured Sirius's little brother - about Harry's own age. But even if he was Regulus, asking 'Did you by any chance hide a piece of Voldemort's soul somewhere around here?' might not go over well, especially if the young man had not yet made a move in that direction.

"As I said - we're entertaining." A thin smile appeared on Regulus's face. "But you may come in, if you're so desperate."

Harry gulped in a lungful of air in relief. The hall beyond was lit by a large candelabra and gaslights along the wall, and looked alive in a way that the Grimmauld Place Harry knew - hurling itself along the pathway to decay with gusto - had not. The troll-leg umbrella stand was gone, and while the curtains that had hid Mrs Black's painting from view were still there, they were neatly bound back with silver cord to display the still life of a wizard's astronomy study. The tiles were gleaming and smelling of Mrs Skower's Enchanted Floorwax.

Behind him, the heavy door closed as soundlessly as it had opened, and a blue glow that Harry had no intention of coming into contact with spread over the inside. The boy stuck out his hand.

"Your wand, 'Potter'." Harry clenched his fingers around the wand in his hand.

Regulus shook his head. "Where are your manners, for Merlin's sake? You don't enter a wizarding home uninvited without offering your wand! What are you, a Mudblood with no clue about etiquette? Or are you planning to attack us?"

Cursing inwardly because he so did not want to let go of his wand in this place, Harry thrust it at the boy. Regulus took it, looked it over curiously for an instant, and let it disappear into his robe with a smirk. Then he waved Harry forward, gesturing at the doorway. "After you, 'Potter'."

Harry entered the broad corridor indicated, bypassing the closed drawing room door. He peered up the stairwell to the first floor. To his relief, the house-elf head collection was nowhere in sight. They passed the dining room and followed the main corridor towards the ballroom. Harry's mouth went dry at the thought of walking right into a wizarding occasion in old school robes over battered jeans and trainers.

But the boy led him past the elaborate ballroom doors, towards the smaller sitting room at the very back of the house, where Mrs Weasley had stored most of the knick-knacks that weren't outright dangerous after they'd cleaned the place. The corridor in front of the door was framed by two gargoyle statues wielding what looked like pikes. Harry was sure he had never seen them before, and they were way too huge for Dung to have carried off.

He slowed a little before passing between the twin statues, even though they didn't move. The Time Spinner under his shirt burned for a split second as he walked between the two pikes before returning to its normal skin-warm temperature. Perhaps he'd imagined it, Harry thought, resisting the urge to rub his chest. The boy following behind him certainly did not show any discomfort.

There was a murmur of voices inside the door, lapping like waves over the stark walls. Unease prickled down Harry's back - he felt like a mouse scurrying into the maze, its nose full of cheese and oblivious to the steel jaws of the trap. Regulus, who seemed plainly amused by Harry's discomfort, pulled open the leather-padded door and offered Harry a mock bow. Heart pounding, Harry dragged his feet across the threshold.

The room was too small to hold a full-blown gathering but provided ample room for the group that was assembled. Harry's nervous gaze caught a blur of young faces and felt an irrational hope blossom. Perhaps Sirius had invited his friends - what if he came face to face with his father? A rapid glance around the dimly-lit room, however, turned up no trace of messy hair or glasses. He could make out several groups of settees and a handful of people hugged by the shadows of floating candles: a girl with hair too dark to be red curled up on a divan between two men, a solitary figure brooding over a glass to the right. Narrow marble coffee tables bore plates with finger foods and trays loaded with bottles and glasses.

It was the figure in the broad leather armchair opposite the door, however, that drew Harry's attention at the expense of everything else. Familiar grey-blue eyes met his under a shock of black hair. Sirius Black raised an eyebrow in an unspoken question. Harry stared and flushed when he caught himself at it - he'd seen that young man before, smiling and mischievous in the old photographs Hagrid had given him. He'd had longer hair in those pictures, and had looked more expressively carefree, but it was the same man.

Sirius.

A somewhat older Sirius than the school-age Marauder Harry had expected. Suddenly, Regulus's age made sense too. Bugger! The Time Spinner must have miscalculated after all, running more slowly with its damaged wire, not travelling backwards as far as it should have. All because of that bloody sneak Wormtail!

The door shut behind Harry with an ominous sound.

"Sirius, may I present Harry Potter," Sirius's bastard of a brother announced, drawing all eyes to Harry. "He needs to talk to you very badly." There was a downright obscene ring to the boy's drawl that made Harry's face heat and Sirius's brow quirk up.

"That's not Potter," came a protest from the right.

Harry turned his head, and his jaw dropped. The last time they'd met, this young man's older self had fled from him through the darkened Hogwarts grounds. To find a young Snape - even a rather well-dressed one who seemed to have fought the grease in his hair to a stalemate - at a party with Sirius was mind-boggling.

"I know," Regulus replied. "Even if someone had filled up old man Harold Potter with de-aging potion, I doubt he'd develop an overwhelming passion for my dear brother." Snickers travelled around the room.

"I wouldn't rule out the possibility completely, though," Sirius offered, and Harry heard Regulus's soft groan behind his back. "But he does look like James, doesn't he? Are you sure there's no Potter minor at Hogwarts, Reg?"

"You bloody well know there isn't. James is an only child - it's a miracle Harold and Calpurnia managed even one, at the age they married."

"He could have been born on the wrong side of the bed," a dark-haired man of about twenty-five commented from the couch he shared with the girl and another male. "The half-blood product of a sordid affair with a Muggle?" He tsked. "Old Harold having a bit on the side - who'd have imagined."

"He's also carrying a magical artefact around his neck, the gargoyles told me," Regulus added, in such a light tone that Harry reacted a split second too late. He raised his hand to clutch the circular shape of the Time Spinner when a beam of light struck him, accompanied by, "Petrificus Totalus!"

Instant heaviness hardened Harry's limbs; his face petrified, although he was able to hear and see everything. He swayed on stony feet and would have fallen over if Regulus Black's hand on his back had not kept him upright.

"Allow me, Black?" the spellcaster asked, wand still in hand as he strolled up from where he'd been standing in the shadows behind Sirius's armchair. Harry's heart sped up painfully against his ribs. It wasn't the immaculate black robes with elaborate silver stitching that fuelled his dread, but the long pale braid that snaked over the man's shoulder. Ice-grey eyes wandered over Harry with detached interest. Even in his mid-twenties, with a somewhat less angular face, there was no mistaking Lucius Malfoy.

Harry watched Malfoy pause, fingers touching Sirius's robed arm on the armrest, and saw Sirius nod. "Be my guest, Lucius."

They shared a quirky grin that screamed three dozen levels of wrong to Harry. What was going on here - why was Sirius holding court in the midst of a gaggle of Death Eaters? Had they put him under Imperius? Or had he been infiltrating them? Was that why Sirius had refused to act as his parents' Secret Keeper? Harry was suddenly painfully aware of how little he knew about the goings-on of the first war.

Malfoy sauntered up to him, and Harry was grateful that the petrification kept the panic off his features. Putting two fingers under Harry's chin, Malfoy dipped his head back to study his face. His thumb swept over Harry's scar. So much for Hermione and McGonagall telling him to be as inconspicuous as possible, Harry wailed mutely. Malfoy would hardly forget that he'd seen Harry's scar before. Was that why he'd grabbed and studied him so carefully in Flourish and Blotts? What was Harry to do - get free and Obliviate the lot of them?

Malfoy let go of Harry's chin and unhooked the front of his robe until it hung loose around his shoulders. Regulus pulled it off him altogether and dumped it over the back of a chair. Malfoy wrinkled his nose at Harry's old school shirt, tucked haphazardly into very battered jeans.

Disgust didn't stop him from unbuttoning the whole way down Harry's shirt, even though the first two buttons would have been enough to reveal the Time Spinner. A twist, and the shirt tails slid free from the loose grasp of his belt. They flapped aimlessly around his hips before Malfoy slid the fabric off him. It fluttered to the ground like a dying bird. Only then did he lift the filigree silver disk off Harry's chest, studying it between thumb and index finger for a moment while his other fingers remained splayed on Harry's skin. Malfoy ran the chain through his fingers until he'd found the clasp, and undid it with a quick move. The Spinner lay on his palm, its silver chain curled around it like a sleeping serpent.

"What is it?" the woman inquired eagerly and leaned forward. Now that she was no longer obscured by the bulk of her companions did Harry recognise the night-black hair and languid eyes of Bellatrix Lestrange. She looked barely older than Harry himself, regal and deadly in a set of dark-red robes and full skirt.

Harry's chest felt very tight. He had indeed walked in on his godfather in the midst of a Death Eater gathering, and his only means of escape lay in the object that was being carried out of reach.

"It looks familiar, doesn't it?" Sirius mused as he scrutinised the Time Spinner on Malfoy's palm. A lock of black hair fell into his eyes and he swept it back impatiently.

"It's a Time Spinner." The older of the two males with Bellatrix stretched his long legs and pointed his chin at the disk on Malfoy's hand. "Possession and use are under strict Ministry control. Dumbledore keeps one in his office."

Harry knew that, of course. Professor McGonagall had fetched it from that very office before the Ministry could get its hands on the Headmaster's possessions. Even if they could have found a Time Turner after Harry's misadventure in the Department of Mysteries, trying to set it back more than a week or so at one turn per hour would have overtaxed the fragile hourglass neck. Time Spinners, on the other hand, used complex Arithmantic calculations to transport their users back, but only to a time before their birth to prevent endangering the time stream. Harry's fondest wish - going back two years to Sirius at Grimmauld Place and warning him of his impending fate - was out of the question.

"No wonder Sirius recognised it then." Bellatrix laughed, low and without the familiar shrill note of madness. "He was up in Dumblebore's office to collect detention at least twice a week."

Sirius swept her a mocking bow. "I didn't have your talent at simpering and hiding behind my love slaves, Bella."

Bellatrix's laugh turned rough as her eyes travelled over him, then pointedly lingered on Malfoy. "You're right, cousin. You didn't have any love slaves."

"And what's a half-breed whelp with a priceless magical artefact doing on your doorstep, Black?" This came from the second man in Bellatrix's group, who looked too much like the other for them to be anything but brothers.

A faint smile slid to life on Sirius's lips. "I'm quite curious about that myself, Rabastan."

Damn! Harry thought bleakly. The Lestrange brothers.

Sirius got up from his armchair and swiped the Time Spinner from Malfoy's fingers. For a split second, Harry saw a glint of anger on the man's face, but he didn't object.

"I think I'll find out," Sirius added lightly. He walked up to Harry's petrified form and drew his wand - the original one which Harry had never seen before. He tapped it against Harry's cheek. A rush of pins and needles spread through Harry's face, and he could move his head again.

"Wand?" Sirius inquired. Regulus passed Harry's wand to his brother over Harry's still-petrified shoulder. Sirius weighed it and whistled softly. "Quite powerful." He smiled again, a lopsided grin that provoked a sudden hopeful flip in Harry's stomach. Sirius crooked his index finger and used it to lift Harry's chin just like Malfoy had before.

"Now, Harry, isn't it? What do you want from me?"

Harry bit his lip. He didn't know anything about Sirius's agenda with these people - he could hardly discuss Horcruxes in front of a bunch of Death Eaters. Sirius's fingers were very warm on his face.

"I..." he stuttered, throwing his godfather-to-be a look of sheer despair. "Can I talk to you alone, please?"

An amused, near-heartless twinkle sparked in Sirius's eyes. "I have no secrets before my friends." The hold on Harry's chin turned into a caress. "Ignore them, Harry. Tell me."

"It's about your house-elf, Kreacher," Harry blurted out. "He's hidden something in my... where I come from. Something only a Black might know about-"

A frown appeared on Sirius's forehead. "Kreacher? My parents' creepy old elf?" he asked. "The one we sent back to the House-Elf Relocation Office after their deaths because it had gone a bit soft in the head?" He shook his head in bemusement. "I'm afraid if you want him, you're a few years too late." He leaned in so close that Harry could smell his breath, sweet with a hint of alcohol that Harry was sure wasn't butterbeer. "And here I'd hoped you'd come to see me, Harry."

"I..." Harry gulped, feeling horribly stupid.

"Are you sure you're not here for me?"

A low chuckle travelled up from behind Sirius's back. Malfoy. "You think He sent him?"

"Well," Sirius shrugged, still stroking Harry's cheek. "He did promise to come, and excused himself on very short notice... And he'd be easily able to pick up some pretty kid and befuddle him."

"Even a real Potter, plucked out of the time stream?" Malfoy smirked. "Yes, He would know how much that would please you and Severus... Nobody can say He is not generous in his withdrawals."

"Especially considering how badly he wants the House of Black..." Sirius threw Malfoy a pointed look.

"Oh, I'd say He already has most of Black," Malfoy replied. His eyes wandered over to Bellatrix, who observed them with predatory amusement and slowly licked her lower lip. "Am I right, Regulus?" Malfoy asked. "Or why were you so eager to greet a late visitor in person?"

The boy behind Harry sucked in a sharp breath. "What about it?"

"He won't fuck you, Reg," Sirius said without turning his head. "What goes on in a wizarding household is nobody's business, but a Hogwarts professor? He won't take such a risk."

Harry could feel Regulus's nails digging into his back. "Perhaps unlike you, I can think of other things once in a while?"

"I'm crushed!" Sirius clutched at his chest and swayed as if receiving a mortal wound.

"At least I did not crawl into my guardian's bed and tied myself naked to the bedpost for him to find," Regulus snapped. Harry could feel the boy's rage radiating through him.

Malfoy snickered in honest amusement and glanced at Sirius, whose cheekbones tightened. "Telling sordid bedroom secrets to your sweet, innocent brother, Sirius? I'm shocked."

A mad smile lit up Sirius's face. "Ah, but neither of us is your ward any longer, Lucius. You're here as a guest. Honoured guest," he amended. He cocked his head in such a Padfoot-like loll that Harry's chest ached. "Unlike this pretty child who's travelled through time to find me, hm?" Sirius pressed his cheek against Harry's, smooth and with the merest hint of stubble, and Harry's chest ached worse. "You are a gift for me, aren't you, Harry?"

There was a part of Harry that wanted to fall into Sirius's embrace, shut his eyes and never come out again. His adult half, however, could see pretty clearly where his godfather's younger self was heading. And yet... perhaps Sirius was trying to protect Harry - or himself - by steering the topic away from things like Death Eaters and Voldemort?

Harry expelled the breath he'd been holding, aware that Sirius opened his mouth a little as if to drink in the puff of air, and whispered, "Yes."

He sounded embarrassingly breathless, but he'd wanted them to read it wrong, hadn't he?

Sirius's arms came round Harry's petrified body, taking his weight off Regulus, who let go and stepped away with his lips in a contemptuous curve. Out of the corner of his eyes, Harry watched him walk over to Snape, who handed him a glass with a dark-red liquid. Then Sirius's face filled Harry's entire vision.

Harry had been kissed before. He'd snogged Ginny in dark corners and empty classrooms a lot over the past year. And Ginny had known how to kiss. But not like this. It wasn't that Sirius was a boy - man - whatever. It was the sheer self-confidence with which he kissed Harry in front of an audience of Death Eaters.

A first brush of lips, so soft it was almost a dream, then a more firm press that set Harry's pulse to hammer. Sirius's teeth dug in sharp, lazy pricks into Harry's plumping bottom lip. Harry would have swayed if the curse and Sirius hadn't held him spellbound until...

"No!" Harry arched his head back like a cat encountering a strange smell. "This isn't... you're my godfather!"

He didn't need to hear the laughter to know that he'd let slip something seriously stupid. He could hear Bellatrix's voice above the others, high and scornful. Sirius, at least, didn't laugh out loud, but his eyebrow travelled upwards in a spitting imitation of Malfoy.

"Now I know that you're Confunded," he said. "No Potter would ever make a Black godfather of their child. They think all Slytherins are practitioners of the Dark Arts or worse." His lips brushed Harry's in the midst of a sensuous chuckle. "You'll have to do better than that."

Harry stood frozen under the gentle lips, barely conscious of being kissed any longer. Sirius, a Slytherin? That wasn't an act he could put on to bamboozle the Death Eaters, not with Snape having been in his year!

"But... you're Gryffindor!" The words hissed off Harry's tongue, instinctive like Parseltongue. The laughter they provoked was even louder this time. Bellatrix's shriek of mirth hurt his ears, and Snape, who had sat there straight-faced so far, gave a bellow and grimaced, disgusted but also slightly wistful.

Sirius craned his neck to stare at his company with a superior tilt of the head. "I'll have you know that the Sorting Hat tried long and hard to convince me of the advantages of Gryffindor house." He looked as if it was a fond memory. "I nearly went for it."

Malfoy commented, in a very salacious tone of voice, "Well, there's no disputing your courage," while Regulus, putting his wine glass down on the table very rapidly, protested, "Mother and Father would have died!"

A cold expression stole onto Sirius's face. "That's exactly why." His brother shot him a scandalised look, but Malfoy ran his fingers through the short hairs at the nape of Sirius's neck in a possessive gesture that made Harry's insides writhe.

"What stopped you?"

Sirius shrugged. "I found the Slytherin Head of House more interesting."

"Then why are you withholding your allegiance?"

Sirius stared at him defiantly. "I like him. I respect him. But as you pointed out, he has enough toadies among my relatives already. The House of Black will remain unaligned."

"You owe the unbroken continuation of your 'House' to one of those toadies." There was no shred of humour left on Malfoy's face now.

"I came of age with all my debts paid, Lucius." Harry had rarely seen pure steel coming out in his godfather, but he saw it now. "You're my guest, and my friend, but no longer my guardian to determine my family's allegiances."

Like a chameleon, Malfoy seemed to shrug off his anger. His expression relaxed and he stroked his finger along the curve of Sirius's chin in an eerie parallel of the way Sirius had touched Harry before. "You must of course follow your own path," he said.

"I was about to." Sirius turned his head and winked at Harry, who blushed fiercely. This Sirius was only a few years older than him, and yet his expression could make Harry feel as if ants were crawling all over him. And make him like it.

Sirius's wand was in his hand so suddenly that Harry had no idea where it had come from. He pressed it to Harry's sternum with a casual "Finite!", awakening the pins and needles all over Harry's limbs. Harry fought the urge to double up and cradle his tingling legs. Sirius put his arm around his neck and pulled him close.

Before Harry could react, a silky voice interrupted. "Before we move to after-drinks entertainment, Black..."

Unwilling, Sirius raised his head over Harry's shoulder to stare at the knot of Lestranges lounging on the broad couch.

The speaker was the other Lestrange brother, not Bellatrix's tall, black-haired husband. He looked, Harry decided from his hiding place in Sirius's arms, like a washed-out version of his brother: dark brown hair, more compactly built than Rodolphus, sprawled on the cushions like a bored cat. Most noticeable were the half-lidded grey eyes, several shades darker than Malfoy's. They made him look relaxed, sleepy.

"You recall owing me a substantial debt after losing that race against Bagman's broom last week?"

A spot of colour appeared on Sirius's face as Bellatrix snickered and pulled one slippered foot onto the couch, wrapping her arms around her knee. "Your own fault for thinking that enchanted Muggle hell machine could outfly a racing broom, Sirius - and betting on it."

"What about it?" Sirius growled at Rabastan, not gracing his cousin with a look. "I thought we'd settled the terms?"

"Discussed them, not finalised them." From the speculative glance the young man ran over Sirius, Harry got a pretty good idea of what those terms had entailed. Rabastan inclined his head at Harry. "I'll settle for him instead."

Instinctively, Harry pressed himself a little closer to Sirius, and felt Sirius's grip tighten on his upper arm.

"I'm sorry, Rabastan, but I don't think it would make a good impression if I rejected a gift from my former Head of House."

Lestrange's lazy shrug did not bode well. He leaned back against the leather upholstery. "That's just conjecture, and even if it were true, I'm sure He wouldn't mind. Not for a debt of honour."

"If I were inclined to favour a guest, I'd offer him to Snape," Sirius shot back. "He's the one who hates James Potter most, and deserves a gift for making Potions Professor at Hogwarts."

Snape snorted, fingers playing with one of the jet-black buttons at his wrist. "I'm merely going to be interviewed by the Headmaster."

"He'd be mad not to take you," Bellatrix threw in. "You've been better at Potions than old Slughorn since fifth year. And He recommended you personally!"

Huh? Harry thought. Who was 'He', if not Slughorn?

Snape smiled thinly and gave Harry's bare chest inside the frame of Sirius's arms a curt once-over. "Yes; but I'm about to be interrogated by the most powerful Legilimens in the country. If I'm found to have done nasty things to school-age boys, I'll end up jobless and in Azkaban. Thanks for the offer, Black, but no."

Rabastan shrugged. "How about it then, Black? Are you going to be selfish? Or do you want to admit that you know the boy after all?"

"If I'd had him in my bed before, I would certainly remember that lurid scar." Sirius tightened his arms around Harry for a moment, then pressed a kiss to his temple. "I'm sorry, Harry - this is a debt of honour. Will you do this for me?"

"Do I have a choice?" Harry ground out, his voice cracking.

"I'd give you one if I could."

Lestrange rose from the couch faster than his languid posture had promised. Sirius didn't quite steer Harry in his direction, but didn't object when Rabastan took hold of Harry's wrist.

"Have him, then," he snapped. "But he's mine and will remain undamaged, Lestrange. Don't presume too much."

The man offered a sleepy grin and stroked his thumb over the pulse point on Harry's wrist. Harry flinched.

Lestrange turned to Snape. "How about a bottle of your special draught, Severus? Since it seems as if we won't get to use it on Black or his pretty brother tonight?"

Sirius didn't react to the gibe, although Harry could sense his anger like a storm cloud. Regulus crinkled his nose in disgust.

"Ah, you wouldn't look so contemptuous if it was Him, would you, Regulus?" the elder Lestrange mocked from the sofa, one arm wrapped around his wife's waist. She giggled and a pink flush spread over Regulus's cheeks. He was pretty, Harry realised, with his delicate features and curly black hair and no trace of Malfoy's pointy-faced pallor.

To his surprise, it was Snape who spoke up rather than Sirius. "I think it's bad manners to insult your host's family," Snape commented, taking an unobtrusive step forward to hover next to the younger boy like a protective vampire bat. He pulled a small, bulbous glass bottle out of his robe and shoved it into Rabastan's hand. The man took it and held it up against the light. The fluid inside was divided into layers like an exotic cocktail - pale jade, golden brown, and dark green.

Pulling Harry close, Lestrange quickly flicked his wrist once, twice, shattering the layers and creating a homogeneous green mix with an oily golden residue. He pulled out the stopper and lifted the bottle to Harry's mouth. "Drink."

Reflexively, Harry clamped his lips shut and shook his head.

"Oh well, I don't mind starting with an Unforgivable, boy..." A look into Lestrange's dark eyes made it clear that he wasn't joking. He reached for his wand.

Harry threw a frantic look at Sirius, but it was Snape who grabbed his shoulder, black eyes glinting. "Drink, Potter, if you know what's good for you!"

"Do it, Harry," came Sirius's voice from behind, and the fact that Sirius was helping Snape to gang up on him almost brought tears to Harry's eyes. He had to be able to trust Sirius, or he'd go mad. "Drink," the soft voice insisted. "It's going to make things easier. I promise I won't let him harm you."

Rage and the urge to shatter the fragile little bottle - or throw its contents right into Lestrange's placid face - bubbled up inside Harry. But the odds were five against one, of whom only the one had no wand. He had to play along for now. Anything to get out of here and back home.

He brought the bottle to his lips and swallowed a mouthful of fluid. It blossomed on his tongue like liquid daybreak - a sweet yet fresh burst of peppermint, dancing around the burnt-sharp malt taste of expensive toffee, and below it a coil of liquor-soaked herbs rescued from bitterness by the sweetness of the other two layers. It was the finest thing Harry had ever tasted, better even than his first sip of butterbeer.

The potion burned in Harry's throat, spreading in a hot wave into his stomach where it sat like an independent entity. The taste clung to Harry's mouth and throat, and pepperminty streaks seemed to surge upward to swirl inside his head. He swayed, and Lestrange grabbed him tighter while Snape corked the bottle again and put it back into his pocket.

"Lust and obedience." Lestrange nodded at him. "You are truly a master among potion makers, Severus."

Snape snorted again, surprisingly loud to Harry's sensitised ears. "I've set my ambitions higher than creating the perfect rape drug, Rabastan."

Unruffled, Lestrange pulled Harry's clumsy body against his own. The world tilted and smelled like burned peppermint and Harry leaned against the robed form for balance. His stomach roiled and the vapours were clouding his mind. He wasn't sure whether he was about to throw up or fall unconscious.

"Deep breaths, little changeling," Lestrange murmured into his ear. "You'll want to get some now - there won't be many later."

Before Harry could process the words, Lestrange put both hands on his shoulders and pushed him to his knees, the fumes in his brain making Harry too lethargic to resist. Lestrange reached down and pulled Harry's glasses off his nose, tossing them to his brother. Rodolphus caught them with a Seeker's ease, and put them down on the coffee table in safe distance from his drink.

Rabastan pointed his wand at the floor behind him, and a slender, man-high stele erupted from the stone tiles where the carpets underneath the sitting areas left a few feet of bare floor. Then a long piece of fabric spilled from the tip of the man's wand. A strip of soft cloth snaked over Harry's chest before wrapping itself tightly around his wrists and pulling them together behind his back.

The fabric lengthened and crept upwards, circling in a loop around Harry's throat before knotting itself around the stone pillar as well. Gooseflesh prickled all over Harry's skin. He couldn't help but pull on the ribbon that bound his hands, primal fear and the memories of being bound in the Riddle graveyard tearing through his mind. The struggle did nothing to loosen his bonds, only tightened the fabric around his neck ever so slightly. Harry stilled.

"Bright boy," Lestrange commended, messing Harry's hair in a patronising caress that threw his potion-addled mind into terrible confusion. "Now, little Potter," he crooned and nestled at the row of buttons on the lower half of his robe, "you won't think about hurting me, and you very desperately want to please me, don't you?"

Harry stared at the robes parting in front of him, at loose, silk underpants below that slipped off Lestrange's hips. Blinked in numb horror at the flushed, half-hard erection that bounced out, almost slapping Harry's chin. Harry had seen something like this only once, after hours in the washroom: Lee Jordan kneeling before a Weasley twin Harry had fled too fast to identify. The wood-sharp scent rising up from the hem of Rabastan's robes and clinging to his skin reminded Harry of the incense he'd smelled when Aunt Petunia had dragged him along to church as a small child.

"Entertain me, boy." Lestrange leaned down and rubbed the top of his cock over Harry's bottom lip. Harry wanted to recoil from the sheer abnormity of putting somebody's prick into his mouth but didn't, rooted to the spot. "Better I do this to you than doing worse to your beloved... godfather, was it?"

The strength of his protective impulse for Sirius had Harry close his lips around the tip of Lestrange's cock. Warm flesh, salty and bitter-wet at the tip, assaulted Harry's taste buds. He tried to think about biting, but the thought frayed and slipped right out of his mind even as Harry was still trying to grasp for it.

Lestrange breathed roughly above him and leaned back against the headrest of the sofa, forcing Harry forward along with him. The cloth hugged Harry's neck, and fear crawled up his spine. He twisted forward to tongue Lestrange's prick, feeling the fabric around his throat pull taut. A puff of precious air escaped his lips, moistening Lestrange's flesh which was hardening against his tongue. The pressure sparked tiny flashlights before Harry's eyes and he drew back for air.

All he managed were two frantic gulps before Lestrange's hand shot out and buried itself in his hair. This time when he was dragged forward, Harry's throat constricted completely. The cord had to be charmed, Harry realised, cutting off his air supply without bruising the skin of his throat or his Adam's apple. It would make the perfect murder weapon- strangling its victim without leaving a mark.

Then his mouth was filled with cock and his ears with the roar of blood trying to stamp its rhythm onto his lungs by pulse if not by breath. Harry's tongue licked a shuddering lattice onto widening flesh, shoulder blades knotting with the effort not to struggle free. His face throbbed, ruddy like the slippery flesh of Lestrange's erection as the man loosened his grip and let Harry draw back, wheezing for breath.

"This is how you do it, boy," Lestrange told his sweat-plastered fringe. "And you better do it well, because you'll work until you get me off, and I won't help you out again."

Harry almost sobbed in distress, short-sighted eyes fixed on the darkening erection before his eyes and yet so hopelessly far away. He hoped for Sirius's voice, telling the monster that this travesty had gone far enough and ordering to set him free, but it never came.

Harry forced his mouth to wrap around the fat width of Lestrange's cock, lips stretched to shield vulnerable flesh from his teeth. Ridges, bumps and swells were traced, mapped and forgotten. Harry licked around the length, tongue fluttering as if it could wring air instead of salty-bland fluid from that cruel crown. His head started to hammer, a dull ache closing his ears, and his limbs twitched in a scream for breath. And still he sucked till darkness threatened, then let the prick slip form his mouth and surged back to the shores of air.

He pressed his back against the stone pillar for a moment; he was hot all over, the skin of his face and neck a puffed mess. Staring at the cock swaying towards him with pure hatred, he tried to lean into the stranglehold once more, hoping the dark red head and the way it stood out from Lestrange's stomach meant that it would be over soon.

Lestrange lifted his foot a little, bringing his cock an inch closer to Harry's gaping mouth, and ran the side of his boot over Harry's groin. The sensation cut right through Harry's first tentative lick, a crawl of need that had him buck his hips in shocked delight. His moan travelled up Lestrange's length, who threw back his head and groaned in pleasure.

Even knowing it was Snape's potion that had him reacting so, Harry drowned in shame. He forced his neck forward into the magical choker, taking in cock as far as he could until pubic hair tickled his nose. Blood howled inside his head, and yet Harry strained forward, determined to end the nightmare on his terms even if it killed him!

The sound that clawed its way out of his throat was neither human nor propelled by breath, a dying whine of protest as the cord dug into his windpipe like a red-hot wire. Harry gagged, and the black spots in front of his eyes flowed together to form an inky pond that blanked out Harry's vision for an endless moment. And then, miraculously, his mouth was free of flesh and salt and his head snapped back, the murderous constriction easing around his throat.

Harry gasped for breath like a dying fish and felt something warm spray his face and hair. The stink of it engulfed him as he fell to the side, wheezing and sucking in air too fast and feebly trying not to heave. To have Lestrange spilling himself on his face - in front of Snape and Bellatrix and, oh god, Sirius! - was a hundred times more humiliating than being forced to swallow. He huddled on the ground in a miserable heap, hands still bound to the stele and trying to keep the tears that hovered in his eyes from spilling down his cheeks and adding to the mess.

Then a pair of arms wrapped around his shoulders and a spell vanished his bonds. He squinted up weakly at Sirius, and stiffly allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. His knees ached, and the movement tightened his trousers uncomfortably around the persistent hardness in his groin.

Sirius studied Harry's smeared face, a finger on his chin preventing Harry from turning his head to the side in a fresh burst of shame.

"Crude, Lestrange," he admonished, although his mouth quirked. "To do something like that, to such a virginal child!"

Lestrange, who was closing the last button of his robe and looked for all the world like the cat who'd mutilated the bird and was now looking for more fluttery entertainment, flopped back onto the couch next to his brother and grinned.

"You'd have worn it even better, Sirius." Behind him, the stele melted back into the floor, which shuddered once and then re-formed into chequered stone tiles.

Sirius clucked his tongue and conjured a warm washcloth that he proceeded to rub over Harry's smeared face and fringe. The touch was soothing and too gentle. Harry felt a shattering sob well up in his throat, painful against the invisible bruising.

"Hush," Sirius murmured before pressing a kiss to his scar. "You did very well, Harry."

Harry was painfully aware of the burn of his cock inside his trousers. Sirius, shifting purposefully against him, could not possibly overlook it. He didn't. Instead, he made a low, appreciative sound and reached between their bodies to cup Harry's prick through his trousers. It jumped, a spike of fire running through Harry as if a nail had been hammered right into the base of his skull. He whimpered and ground against Sirius's palm.

"It's the lust component of the potion kicking in, nothing more." Sirius kneaded Harry's prick for another moment, then reached for the button of his jeans. "We'll take care of it."

Feeling the button give, Harry's hand flew up but shakily stopped when his fingertips encountered Sirius's wrist.

"No, let me unwrap my present, Harry," Sirius whispered, breathing wetly against the soft spot below Harry's ear. Then Sirius's lips touched him there, making him shiver and want and drowning out the crude rasp of the zipper being pulled down. Harry arched his neck as Sirius used his tongue to draw tiny circles on his skin, before sucking the wet patch into his mouth in a languid, delicious pull. Sirius dipped his head back and traced Harry's bruised throat under its perfectly unmarked skin.

Harry felt bereft when Sirius drew back to slide his trousers over his hips, hooking fingers into his waistband to pull his underpants down along with them. He keened softly in protest as the cloth caught on his cock in a maddening rub. Then it was past his knees, his cock coming free. The wet tip felt icy in the air for a moment.

"Step out," Sirius told him as the crumpled pants tangled around his ankles. Harry's trainers were so worn that they slipped off his heels with no effort at all. He could feel the humiliating bob of his prick as he moved.

"Very nice, Harry..." Sirius ran his hands up Harry's flanks and sides, painting stripes of trembling want onto his flesh that seemed to pull his cock upwards in their wake.

Sirius shucked his robe in an uninhibited, snake-like motion as if it were completely normal to undress in front of a roomful of people. Harry caught an eyeful of pronounced brown nipples, wiry yet elegant muscles and a trail of black hair running down towards Sirius's groin like a pointer to his cock. He looked away from that quickly, but Sirius chuckled deep in his throat and drew Harry along with him to the armchair he'd sat in before. He crawled into it, the light brown of his skin, creamy where the sun had not marked it, standing out in stark contrast against the smooth black leather. The scent of it, subtle but feral, crept right into Harry's hapless prick.

Harry gasped when Sirius pulled him into his lap. The armchair was buttersoft against his heated skin and seemed to magically expand to accommodate them both. He ended up straddling Sirius, inhaling sharply as the flushed cock he hadn't been looking at rubbed against his own erection. Harry's knees and feet awkwardly locked around Sirius's thighs.

He groaned out loud when Sirius caught both their pricks in one palm, crushing them together until head brushed head and Harry nearly opened his mouth to beg for more of it, and more again until he came. His palms slid off the armrests, gravitating towards Sirius's shoulders to hold on to that glorious skin. Every inch of his flesh prickled with need; the fire in his cock and the fierce ache in his balls, which felt swollen to Quaffle size, were maddening.

Sirius's upper lip set into the most kissable curve Harry had ever seen. He released his hold on their pricks, and a wandless "Accio, bottle!" sent a small glass container hurtling through the air towards them. It slapped into Sirius's palm like an over-energetic Snitch. The top, shaped in the form of a coiled snake with tiny rubies for eyes, reared up to spit a glob of oil into Sirius's palm.

Sirius breathed in the fragrant scent, then grinned like a boy and swiped a long, oily smear up their still-aligned pricks. Harry almost screamed while Sirius exhaled, deeply and luxuriously. His long black eyelashes fluttered shut for a moment. The feel of Sirius's fingers rubbing viscous oil over his aching prick made Harry's balls contract, but Sirius caught the base of his cock just in time to press down around the enflamed flesh and catch the spurt of wet that had dribbled from the tip. He wiped it off with his index finger and stuck it into Harry's open mouth.

"Not yet," he admonished. "Wait till I tell you, will you?"

Harry had no choice with the grip around the base of his cock and Sirius's palm pressing down on his balls in a subtle warning. He gritted his teeth, sucked precome and oil off the fingers in his mouth, and squirmed restlessly on Sirius's lap.

"Cup your hands, Harry," Sirius murmured against Harry's collarbone, where his lips elicited a delicious shiver. Harry did, and the snake-bottle, its jewel eyes aglitter, spewed more oil into his hand.

He caught the spill and allowed Sirius's hand to guide him to Sirius's erection that was now poking up aggressively from a black thatch of hair. He slid his palm over Sirius's cock, longer than Lestrange's but without that gagging width. It curved arrogantly upwards in a way that was quintessentially Sirius. Harry stroked it carefully, his fingertips memorising the smooth shaft, the swell of the head. A groan rumbled in Sirius's chest as Harry rubbed his oily fingers over the length, pushed a little at the foreskin to help the head emerge further, then squeezed the crown lightly. Sirius's head dipped back in pleasure, and Harry surrendered to the lure of that marvellous skin and pressed his mouth to Sirius's shoulder, never stopping his ministrations until Sirius shoved him away from his groin with a breathless laugh.

"Enough, or you'll have me lose control before I'm inside you." Sirius hoisted him up higher until Harry was nearly curled around his upper body, and cupped one of his arse cheeks in a firm squeeze. "Put your arms around my neck."

Harry did, hiding his face in the inky cloud of Sirius's hair. He felt his legs being spread until his calves were pressed into the armrests. Sirius smeared more hand-warmed oil between his buttocks, and Harry muffled his voice against Sirius's neck, too scared to move his lead-filled limbs. The touch buzzed through his nervous system like an electric current. It was wrongness incarnate, but it made his cock jump.

He had to distract his mind with the scent of Sirius's hair and skin as Sirius's slick fingertip played over his hole: teasing and dipping in, slipping out and back inside, rotating deeper with more oil dripping over Harry's crack and balls. His godfather was gentle, infinitely so, and had they been alone instead of putting on a sick show for a bunch of Death Eaters, the careful attentions might have made Harry glow. Still, his arse heated to a mottled pink, and sweat was pooling in the creases of his thighs. Sirius's finger was deep inside him now, liberally spreading oil into him, and Harry could feel Sirius's cock, a wet, insistent heat against his belly. The finger inside him crooked ever so slightly, and a wild heat shot through Harry's body. He jerked and whimpered.

"Ready?" Sirius whispered, his voice raw.

Harry, who wasn't and could never remotely be ready, hissed, "I don't want this!" with real effort, although his body was prepared to undergo just about everything to get Sirius's hand back on his cock.

"I know, poor thing." Sirius licked a long wet stripe up Harry's neck and kissed his cheek. "But your body does, badly. Don't be afraid. I'll be gentle."

But you'll still do it, Harry thought bitterly, slowly coming out of the mire of obedience Snape's potion had dunked him into. He could think of fighting now, but this was Sirius. He said nothing more, just nodded weakly into Sirius's neck.

He found Sirius's hands on his hips and felt himself being lifted and spun around. When Sirius settled him back on his lap he was facing the room. For once, Harry was glad for his short-sightedness, which spared him details of the gleeful faces trained on him. He scrabbled for balance in order not to fall back onto Sirius's cock and heard Bellatrix shriek with laughter. "A Potter, and no doubt about it! Just look at those knobbly knees!"

"Shush," Sirius whispered as Harry stiffened in his arms, burying his spread knees into the gap where armrests and cushion seat met. "Close your eyes. There's no one here but us. No one else matters."

Harry squeezed his lids so tightly shut that his eyeballs felt bruised and allowed Sirius's hands to guide him slowly backward until he encountered the hot press of Sirius's erection against his arse.

"Relax." Sirius told him, mouth ghosting over the bumps of Harry's vertebrae. Harry tried, honestly tried, but this was nothing like the way he'd pictured his first time to be. And despite his ignorance about actual sex, he knew that this sort of thing hurt and he'd seen - and oiled - the fair-sized cock that was now seeking entrance. Most of all, he was aware of the pitiful smallness of his anus. His skin felt too small for his body somehow, alternating between cold sweat and panicked heat as Sirius's cock nestled between his buttocks. His finger trembled against the leather of the chair.

Then Sirius reached down to adjust himself and presence became pressure. It did hurt. The burn of never-before strained muscles increased in force until Harry feared something would tear inside him. But it was a pain that remained this side of bearable, singeing his nerve ends but not burning them to ashes. Sirius slid in gradually, supporting Harry's weight with one arm to make sure gravity would not impale him too deep, too fast. It was like sinking inch by inch into a too-hot bath, only that the burn flared inside him. The oil eased Sirius along as he inched forward with tiny pushes, filling Harry further and further until he thought he was going to burst. It felt as if Sirius was taking him over, slipping right into Harry's skin to inhabit it alongside him.

Finally Harry felt Sirius's thighs under his buttocks, and the small bumps of his balls in his crack. Sirius barely breathed beneath him, moving only to clasp his hand around Harry's prick which, marvellously, had hardly softened at all. Harry's breath hitched at the firm touch. He gave a tiny upward thrust that stole the air from his own and Sirius's lungs simultaneously.

The soft wool of a robe sleeve brushed his shoulder, and Harry's eyes flew open; he'd forgotten Lucius Malfoy's presence, and now recoiled against Sirius's chest when the man stepped up behind the armchair. But Malfoy ignored him. Instead, he picked the oil bottle from the coffee table and sniffed it delicately. "Mortar & Pestle's custom-made finest? You're generous, Sirius."

"I prefer my partners to enjoy themselves." Sirius's voice stumbled over the first syllable, then sounded as steady as if he wasn't buried to the balls inside Harry's arse, or digging white-knuckled fingers into the flesh of his hips.

"I always suspected there was something more to your excessive feud with James Potter." Malfoy's fingers played with the sweat-soaked tangles at the back of Sirius's head, which Harry watched from the corner of his eye with instant rage. "Such passionate hatred..."

"I wouldn't mind fucking Potter to put him in his place." Sirius shrugged nonchalantly. "But want him? No. If I could have any of the Marauders, I'd pick Lupin."

"Why am I not surprised?" Snape's voice, low and cold. "The werewolf who almost killed me."

"Merlin, Snape, will you get over it?" Sirius snapped. "I had no idea he was a werewolf when I paid you to find out what he was up to in the Shrieking Shack. And you had your revenge when he was expelled and his wand broken."

"Although I heard that He offered him protection and only insisted on his expulsion when the stupid wolf refused it," Rabastan said.

"I still fail to see what you'd want with the mangy beast." Bellatrix grimaced and nuzzled Rodolphus's neck. "Dumbledore must have been mad to admit him to Hogwarts. They even say he was Fenrir Greyback's get."

"Ah, still..." Rodolphus reclined further into the cushions to allow her mouth better access. "Black having dirty thoughts about waif-wolf Lupin? This I've got to hear."

"Oh, yes," Sirius murmured, holding out his hand to Malfoy. The man upended the bottle and it spat another stream of oil into Sirius's palm. Sirius shifted ever so slightly inside Harry, stimulating that spot until Harry threw his head back.

"You see, Rodolphus," Sirius murmured in a low, silky voice that drew every eye in the room, "I have this fantasy about picking up Lupin when he's prowling the shadier nooks of wizarding London in search for food, or work..."

A shameful noise escaped Harry's throat when Sirius wrapped his oil-dripping hand round his prick again, warm, slippery and terribly deft on the throbbing length. Lestrange's eyes were fixed on them; he was licking his lips unconsciously.

"I would invite Lupin home to Grimmauld Place, and have the house-elves prepare a sumptuous feast for him in the great dining room," Sirius continued in what Harry could only think of as a bedroom voice. The sound of it went right to his groin, further torturing his prick. "I would watch him eat, oh, well-mannered and trying to go slow, cutting his chicken legs with knife and fork rather than tearing the flesh off them as he'd like to. And then I'd push his plate away, and shove him flat on his back on the table amidst all the trays and dishes and smells." Sirius slid comfortably lower in his chair, shifting his angle again, and Harry clawed at the armrests when the heat exploded inside him. Sirius didn't seem to notice - he played with Harry's slippery cock and continued his tale.

"I'd peel the shabby clothes right off him and spread him open with hot butter or bï¿½chamel sauce, and he'd let me, because he's Gryffindor and would think he owes me. I'd fuck him face-up on the table until I'd have carved the shape of my cock into his arse." Harry's chest burned with indignation for Remus's sake, who did not deserve having such a picture painted of him, but Sirius's voice caressed his skin and the images didn't leave his head. "And afterwards I'd sent him on his way in new robes and with a bag of Galleons for his trouble, to think about what his beloved James Potter would say if he ever found out."

"Holy Merlin, Black!" Lestrange laughed in breathless admiration. "You really are one sick bastard!"

"Well, Rodolphus, you asked." Sirius smirked into the curve of Harry's neck. "And now, if you don't mind, I'd like to fuck my little morsel here."

Harry's face flamed until Sirius nipped at his shoulder and made him forget, face and neck suffusing with colour of a different nature.

Sirius didn't thrust into him, though. He rocked in a maddening slow rhythm, one hand on Harry's cock, the other holding Harry's hips steady so that he couldn't even fuck himself on the erection inside him.

With sick fascination, Harry watched his cock being massaged in Sirius's hand, glistening with oil and so dark that even looking at it hurt. The head was fully emerged and stretched the foreskin painfully wide. The dribble of precome from the gaping slit, teased and tugged at by Sirius's thumbnail, had almost stopped and left the slit stand out as an inflamed, gaping dent.

The glans poked up from a perfect circle of thumb and index finger like a blind, slimy worm being prodded and forced out of its hidey-hole. Harry stared at it, ache thrumming in every nerve. His spine was bowed with need; a bit further, and he might be able to lick the rigid, swollen organ. He'd never wanted to come this badly in his life, but Sirius's 'Wait till I tell you' kept him on the edge, powerless to force his release.

Harry hardly felt it when Sirius came, the need in his balls and prick overriding every other sensation; there was a soft groan, and Sirius's hand tightened around him. Harry cried out in real pain and the death grip loosened until all that remained were feather-light fingertips whose touch hurt almost as much for want of pressure.

Sirius remained firmly sheathed inside him, dropping kisses up the side of Harry's neck in consolation before speeding up his oily slides and squeezes on Harry's prick, rubbing until Harry's eyes were burning with unshed tears of frustration. He was babbling "Please!" and "Sirius!" and "Ohgod let me come!" in random combinations, hardly aware he was doing it at all. How could Sirius be so bloody cruel!

Sirius gave his prick a few more gratuitous tugs before murmuring, "Now, Harry!"

Orgasm exploded out of Harry and ripped a shrill scream from his lungs. Come splattered over his chin and chest in surprising quantities. His cock jerked several times to rid itself of seed, pushing out a final glob of come that dribbled down his thigh in one last bone-crushing contraction. Tears poured down Harry's cheeks as he lay in Sirius's arms like a tattered rag.

Sirius stroked his head and face during the shocks, murmuring endearments Harry failed to comprehend. When Harry's limbs had stopped trembling, Sirius lifted him off his lap and slipped his cock free. More mess dripped down Harry's inner thighs, and he was lucky that Sirius didn't let go of him because he wobbled on his feet, too overcome to stand unaided. Summoning his wand, Sirius cast a cleaning charm over them both, as if Harry would be able to forget the stains just because the physical evidence was gone. Harry winced as the magic rushed over the tormented flesh of his prick.

Then Sirius kissed him fully on the mouth, so softly that it barely stung Harry's bitten lips. "Thank you, Harry Potter."

Harry's first, undiluted reaction was rage. Sirius had used his potion-addled state to torment him in front of his crowd, worse even than his Sirius had done with Snape in the Pensieve. He pulled free from Sirius's hand and clung to the armrest of the chair instead.

"A very stimulating display indeed," Lucius Malfoy commented, clapping his hands once in a supremely exaggerated gesture. He stood behind Sirius's seated form, close enough for Harry to see his expression. It wasn't friendly. Not at all.

"Indeed," Sirius replied with a smug undertone that Harry wanted to punch off his face. "I'll have to thank Professor Riddle for sending such a delicious gift to excuse his absence."

"Voldemort?" Harry yelled, although his inner voice told him 'who else, you dolt' with an audible sneer.

Snape and Regulus rolled their eyes in unison, and Lucius rapped him on the head with his knuckles.

"There is no need to warm up that silly old childhood nickname, boy!"

"Childhood nickname?" Harry felt as if the world had dropped out from under his feet and was now spinning merrily beside him.

"It might have been entertaining for some time after Dumbledore touted young Tom's schoolboy arrogance all over the place along with the fact that the Heir of Slytherin was of half-blood descent, but it's very old news now." Malfoy sneered. "But yes, indeed, we are talking about Tom Marvolo Riddle, Deputy Headmaster, Defence against the Dark Arts Professor and Head of Slytherin House at Hogwarts. Heir of Slytherin, Professor at nineteen, renowned for his ground-breaking research on Truth Spells. Defeated the Hogwarts Basilisk and single-handedly took out Fenrir Greyback and his gang of werewolves. I'd hand you the Chocolate Frog card, but I haven't got one on me right now."

"You could try and be a bit more respectful about the Professor, Lucius," Bellatrix snapped, but Harry didn't listen any more. Everything was falling into place now - Sirius in Slytherin making nice with all the junior Death Eaters, Sirius's dead parents, Tom Riddle teaching the Dark Arts at Hogwarts. The Time Spinner had been malfunctioning after all. This wasn't his, Harry's past - it was some spin-off place the damaged artefact had dropped him in by accident!

"It's not me who's being disrespectful, Bella," Lucius replied coolly. "There are more fitting candidates in this room, especially this insolent boy. Now," Malfoy picked up a champagne flute from the table and raised it to his lips, "shall we punish the foolish little slut?"

"We really should," Rabastan chimed in. "Besides, he walked into an assembly of Slytherin's Chosen, and should have to prove himself like one in exchange for freedom."

Prove himself? Harry nearly choked on his tongue with rage. He had done enough already to amuse the sick bastards!

Malfoy smirked at Sirius in what could only be described as a challenge. "Let him play for his freedom like a Slytherin. If he fails, Sirius will have a new and only slightly damaged magical artefact for his collection, and one of us a trainable little delicacy for entertainment."

Lestrange snorted. "Well, outside Sirius's hands he certainly has no skills to speak of. Though there are some wizarding... establishments in Knockturn Alley which would be glad to take him in for training. A time-travelling half-blood, related to the Potters? Harold and James have made their share of enemies among the pureblood crowd who would find such a prospect highly appealing." Harry's stomach nearly heaved at the thought.

"Unless, of course," Malfoy threw in silkily, "our friend Sirius decides to take up Professor Riddle's kind offer. Slytherin's Chosen will forgive much to please one of their own."

When he spoke at last, Sirius's voice had an undertone of weariness. "If you want him, Lucius, why not just say so?"

"Oh, it's not so much that I want him. I'm merely curious about a child who manages to affect ruthless, self-centred Sirius Black this much."

Bellatrix's voice cut through the exchange. "Well, I for one am not going to watch you two-time my pregnant sister, Lucius!"

Unruffled, Malfoy raised an eyebrow at her. "How narrow-mindedly Muggle of you, Bella."

Her eyes narrowed, fingers inching towards the pocket that had to hold her wand. Lucius blithely ignored the danger and poked a finger against Harry's chest.

"This boy is well beyond any protection a pureblood youth could lay claim to. Hardly something a witch of true breeding like my wife would take offence at. Besides..." He smirked, and Rodolphus caught Bellatrix's hand rather quickly to prevent disaster. "...Cissa and I do not begrudge each other a bit of diversion."

"Well, I will take my husband upstairs and give him something better to do than watch and lust after schoolboys," Bellatrix announced, slipping off the sofa and tugging Rodolphus after her.

"Ah, Bella," Rabastan sighed exaggeratedly. "None of us would lust after schoolboys if we had managed to snare you!" His gaze flickered towards Malfoy. "Well, hardly any of us."

Sirius hid a lopsided grin from Malfoy's eye and nodded at the couple. "You know your way to the upstairs bedrooms." He locked eyes with his cousin, none of them colouring the slightest. "Have fun."

"Let's leave the poor little lamb to the wolves." Bellatrix paused on her way to the door to pat Harry's cheek, and he flinched away from the blood-red nails with a hiss.

"Ah, one of those who'll only respond to a man's touch..." She clucked her tongue. "Well, Lucius will give you that and a lot more besides." She proudly sashayed to the door, red skirts swirling around her ankles, her consort in tow.

"And Lucius is famous for his skill at the game, isn't he, Black?" Snape pointed out malevolently after the padded door had fallen shut behind them.

Malfoy bowed to him, braid falling over his shoulder. "Ah, the game..." He turned a malicious gaze on Harry, and Harry wondered if the man disliked something he saw in him, or if he only served as a stick to beat Sirius with.

"Quite a common entertainment in Slytherin house," Malfoy explained. "The rules are simple: you get two vetoes - if you can't handle something I do, say so and I'll switch to something else. If you beg a third time, you lose and become ours." He leered at Harry. "Do you want to play, Potter?"

"No," Harry said coldly, with as much pride as he had left, naked and after everybody had seen him beg and come. "But I will." Then a flash of inspiration hit and the words tumbled out of his mouth before he had time to second-guess them. "I'll play you, Malfoy. But since this is a Slytherin thing, and I'm not a Slytherin, I want an extra favour apart from walking out with my Time Spinner."

Malfoy cocked his head expectantly while Sirius propped his chin onto his hand and studied Harry with watchful eyes. Even Snape, Rabastan and Regulus seemed to lean forward in their seats.

"Go on," Malfoy said, studying his perfectly manicured fingernails.

"Every time I don't beg out of whatever you're doing, I want a question answered."

"Questions again?" Malfoy asked. "Oh well. Granted unless I think it's sensitive information. Does that satisfy you, young Potter?"

Harry's face set into a humourless grimace. "Not really, no. But it'll do."

"Very well," Malfoy purred. He took Harry's arm and led him, still naked, into the middle of the room, then took a step back and left him to stand there on cold bare feet.

"Lift your arms, and cross them over your head."

Harry glared, but obeyed. He could feel the pulse hammering in his wrists as he put them together, feeling utterly silly. Malfoy waved his wand and a length of rope sprouted from the ceiling, wrapping itself several times around Harry's wrists before pulling taut. He could still comfortably stand without having to balance on tiptoe, but the pose strained his shoulder muscles and if he let his arms sag, the rope cut into his flesh.

He took deep breaths to calm himself. Struggling and panicking would make him look even more stupid, and it would be futile. He could see that much in Malfoy's predatory face.

The bastard circled him slowly, studying Harry's goose-fleshed body from all angles before giving one of his buttocks an ungentle squeeze. Harry bit his tongue to stop himself from calling him all sorts of well-deserved names.

"Yes, this will do nicely. But first... Veritamar!"

Harry felt the spell settling over his chest, a slight but noticeable pressure. "What-?" he croaked.

"Don't play innocent, boy," Malfoy sneered in his ear, causing Harry to turn his head away. "You know what the spell does."

"I've never heard it before!" Harry protested.

"I don't believe it," Harry heard Regulus mutter. "A wand that powerful, and not a shred of education to go with it."

"Ah, but if he's from a different timeline than ours, he might really not know." At this point Snape's voice became downright smug. "After all, it was Professor Riddle who invented Veritamar."

"Well, real or pretence, that ignorance can be remedied," Malfoy drawled. "Unlike truth potions, Potter, the spell will not compel you to tell the truth. If you lie, however..." He touched Harry's chest where the pressure was strongest, "it will stop your heart. Just like that."

The touch turned intimate, whispering over the curve of Harry's ribs, catching at his right nipple. "An escape of sorts." Malfoy was so close that his robes rubbed against Harry's naked back and his body moulded against Harry's buttocks. "But I don't think you want to escape that way, do you? I think you're a survivor, Potter."

If he weren't all nervous gooseflesh, Harry might have found that funny.

"So tell us, boy - did Albus Dumbledore send you to spy on us?"

Harry tried to ignore Malfoy's proximity. "No." The Headmaster was dead, after all.

Malfoy turned to the table Snape and Regulus were sitting at, his silver-trimmed cloak swirling around his ankles. "Does that calm your fears, Severus?"

Snape scowled, but didn't respond. Instead, Sirius spoke up. "Has Tom Riddle brought you here?"

"No!" Harry yelled, outraged at the very thought.

Sirius scrutinised him for a moment, then nodded imperceptibly. "No curses or hexes," he told Malfoy, and a green ray from his own wand took the truth spell's weight off Harry's chest.

"Well, we're not training him for initiation into the Chosen," Malfoy replied. "I'll be happy to take my cue from the theme of the evening: the erotic arts - in the widest sense."

Malfoy flicked his wand at Harry again, and a broad strip of black cloth flew at Harry's face, wrapping itself around his head and obscuring his vision. Thrown into sudden darkness, Harry's body stiffened. He tugged at his bonds, then forced himself to stop. There would be worse to come; Malfoy wanted him helpless and rattled, and panicking over a blindfold would only play into his hands.

Harry perked his ears, trying to make out Malfoy's position. Cloth rustled beside him, and a fingertip touched the strained muscle of his upper arm, tracing it up to the armpit before running over the sparse hair growing there. It bloody tickled. Harry tried to twist out of the way, but to no avail. Not allowing him escape, Malfoy tugged at the hairs until Harry bit his tongue in order not to yelp. Somehow, not being able to see or anticipate where Malfoy might be moving next magnified even small discomforts.

"My question!" he protested, more to distract Malfoy's attention from his armpits than from real curiosity.

Malfoy just laughed. "You don't consider putting on bonds and a blindfold as praiseworthy achievements, I hope?"

The bastard kept circling him, fingers unerringly finding the most ticklish spots at his ribs. It took quite some effort not to squirm. Sweat broke out over Harry's body, and he was dying to scratch himself raw.

There was a moment's pause as if Malfoy was devising a new evil. Recalling the man's derisive laugh, Harry kept his mouth firmly shut. This wasn't too bad yet. Still he squeaked when he felt all five of Malfoy's fingernails digging into his left buttock, drawing long, parallel scratches from the top of his thigh up the fleshy cheek. It didn't hurt precisely, but created a cold sort of burn that jumbled Harry's nerves. Malfoy scraped over Harry's other buttock, his upper thighs and finally over his itching sides where it was more bliss than ache despite the welts the nails had to leave behind.

And then Malfoy's hand detoured without warning, closing around Harry's dormant prick with hardly less force than Sirius had in his moment of ecstasy. It bloody hurt, rough and possessive and Harry had a 'No!' of protest on his tongue before he realised that Malfoy would construe that as a veto. Uncomfortable as the grip was - not to mention embarrassing - Harry could bear it.

"Shall we see whether there's still a bit of Severus's potion running through your system?" Malfoy asked, tugging at the helpless prick with no care whatsoever. To Harry's ultimate humiliation, the persistent stimulation made his groin twitch. His prick was filling, not a lot, but enough to be noticeable.

"It looks that way, doesn't it?" Malfoy commented, the heartless fuck! "Well, either that or you're a whore at heart, Potter."

He dropped Harry's prick like a cold potato after proving his point, and Harry felt the tip of a wand touch the base of his throat. "Let's see what else gets a reaction, shall we? Obstringo!"

A hard leather something came into being around Harry's neck, rough against the sensitive skin of his throat. It felt like a broad collar, reaching from below his chin to his collarbone. Sweat pooled at Harry's neck and his eyes went wide under the blindfold when Malfoy's wand tapped the thing. It tightened from loose to snug with a hint of constriction.

"No!" Horrible memories of Lestrange choking him with his prick while the enchanted cord bit into his windpipe filled Harry's head. The invisible bruises still ached on the inside of his throat.

"Are you begging?" Malfoy asked silkily.

Harry craned his head, trying to tell himself that he could handle this; Malfoy wouldn't kill him. But a wave of horror crested over his brain, and the collar seemed to pulse against his Adam's apple, tightening further...

"Please!" Harry wheezed, arching his neck against the grip of the collar. "Take it off!"

Another tap of the wand and the monstrosity's hold loosened. Harry expelled a shaky breath of relief when Malfoy pulled it off him. He touched the base of Harry's throat and stroked it lightly.

"Well, boy; that leaves you with only one opt out." There was no way of overhearing the smugness in Malfoy's tone, and Harry swore to himself that he wouldn't give the bastard that satisfaction again, no matter what he did. There would be no surrender to fear from now on!

"Now, Potter, how about something different?" Malfoy continued. "You heard Sirius regale us with his intriguing fantasy about Lupin, didn't you? Or were you too preoccupied?" Harry scowled. "Now, tell us whom you desire."

Heat climbed into Harry's cheeks, and he hoped the broad fabric of the blindfold would hide some of it. The bastard had to be kidding! There was no way he'd air out his most private thoughts in the shameless way Sirius had. Not to mention that he had no idea what to say. Images of Ginny's freckled skin and Fleur's memorable chest appeared in front of his inner eye, followed out of the blue by a flash to Sirius's naked chest. In a burst of rage, Harry stiffened his neck and glared in the direction Malfoy had to be standing.

"How about you on your knees sucking me off?" he growled. It wasn't an utter lie, but driven by vengeance rather than by a desire to come into contact with any part of Malfoy's anatomy. Still he was glad the truth spell was no longer on him.

He heard more than one of the onlookers chuckle, and then Rabastan's amused, "Nicely played, Potter."

Malfoy's own soft laugh ghosted over his chest and dread scuttled through Harry's nerves. Malfoy caught hold of his left nipple and squeezed it none too gently. "Nicely played indeed," he murmured. "Yes, I think I will do that. Although you might come to regret it."

Harry gulped as Malfoy's hand slid over his chest; cloth rustled again when Malfoy knelt, fingers coming to rest on Harry's hip. Harry could almost see the man arranging his robes to pool around him in neat folds. His skin crawled. He'd expected Malfoy to slap him for that line, not to act on it!

Malfoy's other hand wrapped around his prick and lifted it up. Cool lips caressed the head, warming around his flesh. The first brush of tongue made Harry groan, his cock going from bruised and shy to rapidly swelling. It was still sensitive, but Malfoy lapped at it so carefully, sucked the tip so gently that the discomfort faded almost at once. Tiny sucks coaxed the head out of its foreskin, seeking attention as if it hadn't had way too much of that at Sirius's hands just half an hour ago.

It took an embarrassingly short time until Harry was fully hard, his prick straining lustily into the cavern of Malfoy's mouth and sliming his tongue with precome.

Malfoy snaked his index finger backwards to stroke Harry's scrotum, tickling the soft fuzz of hair there and playing with the plumping balls until they constricted in their loose skin covering.

When Malfoy swallowed around his prick, lips stretched so far they almost closed around the base, Harry made an inarticulate "Nng!" noise, glad for the blindfold because if he'd had to watch, he'd either have died of mortification or come minutes ago. Just how had his legs ended up spread and his hips jutting forward to maximise contact with Malfoy's mouth? Heat pooled in Harry's balls, fired up by the delicate scrape of Malfoy's teeth along the side of his erection.

He squeezed his eyes shut, neck prickling, and invited orgasm to strike when Malfoy slid his lips off his over-heated cock and, with a raspy voice, muttered "Obstringo!" again.

Breath rattled in Harry's lungs as he gulped for air, but this time the pressure did not form around his neck. Instead, something invisible tightened around the base of his cock like congealing air, biting down on the engorged flesh until any thought of coming had been chased out of Harry's head. The interrupted blood flow hurt even as it left him painfully hard and panting.

"Bloody fucker!" he cursed the invisible presence that was Malfoy.

"Now, now, boy, show some patience," the bastard commented. "There will be plenty of time for that later."

Only the thought that Malfoy had to have the taste of Harry in his mouth right down to his tonsils consoled Harry enough not to scream abuse when Malfoy gave his swollen prick a squeeze. It seemed impossible for it to get any harder than it already was with the constriction around it, but it did. Harry heard the leather of Malfoy's boots creak as he rose to his feet. Malfoy put a finger that smelled distinctly of Harry over Harry's snarling mouth.

"I'll take your mind off things," he promised, voice smoky and superior although all his associates had just seen him on his knees sucking a half-blood's prick. Shame seemed to be an unknown concept to these Slytherins.

Harry could hear Malfoy casting "Accio!" once more. Someone sucked in an audible breath, and Rabastan Lestrange murmured, "Oh, nice!" followed by Malfoy's lazy drawl.

"How about a little bet, Sirius? Will he succumb to this?"

There was a pause, as if Sirius was pondering the question. "I doubt it, Lucius," he replied at last. "Underneath his pliant appearance, I think he's quite a fighter."

Oh, thanks so bloody much for the vote of confidence and no help! Harry raged inwardly. And he wasn't pliant! He'd thought he couldn't hate Sirius any more than he already did for dying, but now... he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to separate the memory of his godfather from this.

"You owe me an answer!" he rasped, hoping to postpone whatever Malfoy had in mind now.

"For pleasuring you?" Malfoy asked, irony dripping like runny custard from a hot apple tart.

"Like hell you did!" Harry muttered, cheeks very warm again. "Vol- Tom Riddle. How did he become a Hogwarts teacher?" That was the part he still couldn't buy - he'd seen Dumbledore reject Riddle with his own eyes in the Pensieve.

"Why, Albus Dumbledore hired him only a year after he'd left school," Malfoy replied. "It created quite a stir, especially after the old codger himself leaked his heritage to the Daily Prophet. Those who didn't object to Riddle's youth protested him being a Parselmouth and Slytherin's heir, and those who saw no offence in that objected to his Muggle blood. When Sirius's parents were still alive, they considered him a 'filthy half-blood'." He snorted delicately. "Of course Dumbledore wanted to keep an eye on him because he'd always feared his powers, but a few months later Riddle located and destroyed the Hogwarts' Basilisk and became an instant hero in the eyes of the magical community."

"But..." Harry sputtered, trying to ignore the way his prick and balls throbbed. "Riddle hates Muggles. Dumbledore would never-"

"He doesn't hate Muggles!" Regulus Black's voice was shrill and angry. "He just hates the way the Ministry enslaves wizardkind in the name of 'Muggle protection'. His own father was a Muggle, after all."

"And that doesn't bother you?" Harry asked, incredulous.

"No!" Regulus exclaimed, a bit too forcefully. "He wants us to be free to develop our potential no matter what background. Even Severus here is a half-blood. All that matters is a wizard's power."

"Why, boy, it sounds as if the dear Professor's background troubles you." Malfoy stepped up behind Harry and ran cool fingers over his bottom. "A little traditionalist, are you? And here I thought the Potters were so liberal - after all, old Harold allowed his only heir to marry a Mudblood."

"Muggleborn!" Harry hissed. The bastard was talking about his mother.

"What a contradictory little creature you are," Malfoy murmured, hand still cupping Harry's buttock. "But I think you've had your question answered." He let go and took a step back. "Now let's see how much of a fighter you are - brace yourself."

Before Harry could do anything but dig nails into his palms above the rope, the air behind him filled with a multi-tongued hiss, and a hail of thin strips rained down on his arse. A loud breath escaped his mouth but surprise spared him the shame of crying out.

Digging teeth into his lip, Harry bore out the stings as three, four, five more blows landed on his rump. Clenching his teeth did not help against the blooming fire, and a whine escaped his mouth when Malfoy focussed his attention on the back of his thighs and bottom, purposefully striping every inch of skin until Harry felt like a lobster being dunked into boiling water. His bum was blazing as if Malfoy had ripped the skin right off. The flogger's strands had to be made either of very supple leather or quite stiff cloth. There had to be magic worked into the bloody things too, Harry thought, to sting this much without drawing blood.

The tap of Malfoy's boots made Harry feel like a blinded dolphin with blood-thirsty sharks circling all around him. The flogger hit him in uneven intervals, sometimes a single thwack across his shoulders or the front of his thighs, bearable but shocking in its sudden intensity, sometimes a flurry of blows on his back or arse. Harry squirmed under the latter, his face a pained grimace. Flinching out of the way was futile since Malfoy seemed to follow up every attempt with a particularly insidious blow, and it put an awful strain on Harry's bound wrists. His skin burned all over, every new blow making the pain flare hotter.

The strips hissed around his limbs like serpents and Malfoy excelled at finding and exploiting the most vulnerable spots: whipping the flogger around the skin of his hips, and over his trembling calves again and again until tears shot into Harry's eyes. He lifted a foot to protect his other calf, wobbling precariously. It didn't stop the bastard from laying another, harder blow in the same spot that snapped across his ankle. The sharp ends left stinging welts on the sole of his foot. Hissing, Harry rested the burning sole back on the stone tiles.

His arm muscles started to knot and ache from the unnatural position he was tied in, and the continuous struggling abraded the skin at his wrists. Quite like Lestrange's magical bonds, the rope very carefully did not cut off the blood flow in his wrists, but bound him securely without permitting serious injuries.

Mercilessly, Malfoy abused every part of Harry's body, sparing only face, neck and groin. Still, Harry cringed whenever the flogger came near his lower front.

Finally, the bastard seemed to develop an aversion to Harry's chest. The first whack cut across Harry's left nipple, two or three strands pummelling the nub at once. Malfoy started out lightly, and the first few blows were almost stimulating. But Malfoy kept hitting them, increasing in force until he had Harry twitching and whimpering and wondering if his nipples were still there or had been reduced to bloody pulp already. He couldn't even hear Malfoy breathing faster, or if he did, it was drowned out by Harry's own frantic panting.

"Don't fucking slice them off!" he hissed when he couldn't bear it any longer. His chest boiled as if he'd been flayed alive.

"Are you-" Malfoy started, but Harry cut him short.

"No! I'm not begging out, you sick fuck! Just..." He went silent, quavering with pain. Just stop!

"Perhaps you should reconsider your choice of words? I think you may need a more... incisive lesson." Malfoy didn't even sound angry, but Harry's stomach plunged. Suddenly, the rope gave a little, and Harry pitched forward.

"Spread your legs and lean forward," Malfoy ordered, the strands of the flogger whispering a sibilant melody on the marble floor. Panting with dread, Harry did as he was told, not knowing what he feared more: an assault of Malfoy's cock, or the flogger.

"Wider." Malfoy's hard voice commanded until Harry was spread as far as he could go without falling over. His buttocks clenched, sending a stab of agony through the scattering of welts that decorated them.

Then the flogger hissed between his legs, hugging the inside of his left thigh before snapping to the right in an identical move. There was less room for Malfoy to swing the handle, but it burned like hell on one of the least exposed parts of Harry's anatomy. Two strokes there were enough to make him whine, and then an underhanded blow whacked upwards into the cleft of his arse, landing like liquid fire over his still-sore hole. Harry went limp in his bonds for a moment until the burn of the rope and the strain in his arms forced him to wobble back onto his feet. A second lash followed right on the heels of the first, harder and petering out in a promise of evil to come over his perineum.

This time, Harry screamed out loud, the pain too intense and immediate to bear in silence. There was shock, too - he'd never imagined Malfoy would hit him anywhere near his genitals. Another stroke had him writhing in his bonds again, air driven out of his lungs by terror.

Malfoy stepped around him once more, and before Harry could catch his breath, the flogger whistled, hitting his straining cock without warning. Harry howled so loud the sound echoed through the room; it hadn't been a hard stroke, but his over-stimulated and trapped erection would have turned a mere touch into agony. He stumbled until the rope caught him, mouth open and bone-dry. Malfoy gave his prick another thwack, then another, evidently enjoying Harry's screams. It hurt worse than anything Harry had ever felt this side of Cruciatus. Tears spilled from his eyes and were soaked up by the blindfold; his cock, unable to flag thanks to the Obstringo, could only burn until it felt as if it was going to burst any second.

"I'm sorry, sorry!" he sobbed, hating himself but unable to stay silent, even if this wasn't begging. Yet. But if Malfoy struck him there again...

"Yes, I'm sure you are," Malfoy said coldly.

Pain had erased every hint of curiosity from Harry's mind, but now he madly grabbed for another question as a straw of relief. He had to distract Malfoy, or he would break.

"Why... why'd Sirius call you his guardian?" Harry forced the words out around his parched tongue.

"It's a legal term, you ignorant child." Malfoy sighed with no little exaggeration, and Harry's heart pounded with relief. As long as Malfoy talked, he couldn't hurt him.

"Orion and Walburga Black's thestral carriage collided with a rogue Hebridean Black over the Scottish Highlands when Sirius had only just turned fifteen," Malfoy went on. "A terrible tragedy." There was an ominous ring to that, and Harry wondered if the note of amusement he'd heard was truly there or just pain-induced hallucination.

"Cygnus Black - Bellatrix's father - demanded custody of the Black heirs, but since Cygnus had his own designs on the Black heritage and is an ultra-conservative pureblood to boot, I raised the matter with Professor Riddle, and we both decided Orion's sons would be safer someplace else. Since I had already been betrothed to Cygnus's younger daughter, and taken control of my own house without any designs on Black, we convinced the Wizengamot to name me guardian instead." He chuckled. "Not even Dumbledore contested the arrangement, although he certainly did not approve."

"He'd have approved even less if he'd known you would take Sirius into your bed barely a month after being made our guardian," Regulus threw in poisonously.

Sirius sighed. "Let it go, Reg. It was my decision, I seduced him."

"Because he made you think you owed him for taking us in and protecting our claims!"

"No, Reg, because he was beautiful; and because I wanted to make sure not to owe him - or Tom Riddle - any debt for the future." Sirius's voice grew sharp. "Jealousy in such matters does not suit a pureblood, Reg."

"Ah, but I think this jealousy is not about me, Sirius," Malfoy threw in, so spitefully gentle that if Harry had been Regulus, he'd have hexed the bastard to kingdom come right there on the spot. "Your brother has set his sights on a higher goal than me, I'm afraid."

Although Harry only grasped fragments of the implications floating around, he couldn't help but think that the Blacks' deaths had been very convenient for everybody involved.

A sudden silence fell over the room, and Harry realised with a jolt that he'd spoken aloud. He cringed, then shrieked as Malfoy closed his hand roughly around his burning cock.

"Not even my most outspoken adversaries have dared to suggest this to my face, boy," he snarled, fingers digging in until Harry writhed.

"Is it true?" Regulus asked, almost lost.

"It's nothing but a vile rumour," Sirius answered. "Set in motion by our dear uncle, for the obvious reasons. I'm surprised you haven't heard it before." Malfoy's punishing grip, and with it Harry's urge to shriek at the top of his lungs, relaxed a little as if mollified by Sirius's calmness.

"But you wouldn't care!" Regulus protested. "They hated you, for always embarrassing them, and being in and out of Muggle London. And you hated them."

"I did. But I didn't kill them, and neither did Malfoy. If you're in doubt, go and speak to Professor Riddle when you're back at Hogwarts."

"I think this has gone far enough," Malfoy said. "I'm not done with this troublemaker, and-" He gave Harry's prick a last brutal squeeze before letting it bounce back, "I did not care for your insinuation at all, boy. Spread your legs again."

Panic shot up Harry's nerves. "You said I'd get to ask a question after handling something, not that you'd do it again!" A note of fear shrilled in his voice; he was almost hyperventilating.

"I didn't say I'd whip you again, Potter. I said to spread your legs!"

Shoulders shaking with suppressed sobs, Harry obeyed. He didn't manage to get his thighs apart as wide as before. He was anything but steady on his feet and his cleft burned from the whipping. The welts were screaming at every move.

Impatiently, Malfoy grabbed his buttocks and forced them apart to expose Harry's entrance, indifferent to the way they were quivering with pain under his fingers. Harry's body froze as the flogger whistled through the air again. The strands didn't touch his skin, but whirred around in shortening circles until they fell silent. Then Harry felt something hard and unwieldy push against his cleft; he hissed and tried to twist his bottom out of the way, but Malfoy seized his hip with one hand and forced him into place. Another push and twist, and the thing was right at the throbbing pucker of his opening. Through the ache, Harry could feel the distinct pattern of the flogger straps, wound tightly around their handle.

His mind blanked out with panic when Malfoy pushed the handle forward. It distended the ring of muscle only a little, but felt as if he'd stuffed his fist in there.

"Come on, Potter, bear down on it," Malfoy ordered. "Let's see how much of a fighter you are."

Harry gritted his teeth, smelling his own cold sweat, and tried to press himself onto the handle. Dull, ripping pain flared through his arse. He'd had Sirius's cock up there, but he'd been drugged out of his mind and more than well prepared. This was nothing but violation of the crudest sort. Still, it drowned out the ache of his cock clamouring for release. He managed to work the thing into himself about half an inch before Malfoy murmured wetly into his ear, "Would you rather fuck yourself on this or take my cock, Potter?"

Heart thumping hopefully that he might be offered a way out of this nightmare, Harry wished he had the strength to snub Malfoy and take the flogger, but knew he didn't. He'd be seriously hurt if he tried.

"You," he ground out. The handle inside him seemed to grow with every second it kept stretching his protesting channel.

"Pardon me?" Malfoy said.

"I'd prefer to take your cock," Harry rushed out in one breath before suspicion hit him. "Unless you think it's begging."

"I didn't say it was, boy." Malfoy ripped the handle free without a warning, and Harry screeched and sagged against the rope. It wouldn't have surprised him to feel blood running down his thighs, but there was none.

"But first, something to improve your appearance."

Malfoy stepped around him and took hold of Harry's cock again, which was lying nearly flat against his belly, but was so swollen that the head stuck out at an awkward angle. He felt the crown being squeezed until the slit gaped; something dug into the sides of the tip, like tiny metal claws. Then something long and pointed came down right over the slit.

Harry twitched frantically, trying to dislodge it, but the point buried itself a few millimetres into the small opening of his urethra and he froze because the slightest movement hurt like hell. The flesh around the slit was smeared with precome inside and out, but if it eased the intrusion at all, Harry couldn't feel it. The metal burned inside him, making him jowl and sob into the blindfold. The thing went in with a sharp push, then pulled back a little, only to shove deeper. It seemed to move by itself, as one of Malfoy's hands was still around Harry's length and the other clamped down on his hip to stop him from flailing. Harry's head went beet-red as if he was running a lethal fever.

The thing seemed to reach its limits when it had forced itself into about a quarter of Harry's cock; it dug its metal claws into the sides of the head and proceeded in its push-withdraw rhythm with vigour.

"It is pure silver cast in the form of a stork, Potter - a very fine piece of craftsmanship." Malfoy's voice was tinged with amusement.

Harry could imagine the long beak of the little monster clicking inside his prick as if to hunt for microscopic frogs. Agony seared up every time it poked its minuscule head up and down, and Harry continued to wriggle and whimper in Malfoy's grip. Not because it hurt less that way - it didn't! - but because he couldn't possibly keep still.

"If you can't bear it, beg out, but stop that infernal squirming," Malfoy snapped and gave what had to be the stork's behind a little push that sent it hurtling forward another few millimetres into Harry's poor slit.

Harry sobbed, throat congested and his nose clogging up with tears. He couldn't even wipe off the snot, bound as he was. Salt-tinged fluid ran into his mouth although he tried to sniffle it away like a child. Defeated, he sagged against Malfoy, even though keeping still meant that he had to feel the burrowing of the silver bill like a red-hot iron being dragged over flesh.

"I'm going to fuck you in a moment," Malfoy threatened softly, "so if you have a last question to ask, do it now; you won't be in any shape later."

"Question," Harry croaked when he had his voice back, dying to get Malfoy's fingers away from the horror on his prick.

"Be my guest, boy," Malfoy whispered into his neck.

Deciding to throw all care out of the window because what more could they do to him apart from killing him - which sounded like a perfectly reasonable option at the moment - he slurred, "What'd'you know about Horcruxes?"

"Horcruxes?" Malfoy echoed as if he couldn't quite place the term.

"One of the means of attaining immortality that came up in Seventh Year Defence," Rabastan Lestrange replied, followed by the sound of a glass being put down on a table. "Splitting the soul with a human sacrifice and storing it in an artefact. Professor Riddle dismissed it as much inferior to the creation of a Philosopher's Stone. Just as great a risk to the mind as using Sumerian snake root would be to the body. Illegal too, of course."

"You learned about it at Hogwarts?" Harry gasped.

"Well of course," Lestrange said as if that were perfectly self-evident. "Riddle's one of the world's most famous experts on immortality research. He's been studying under Nicolas Flamel to create a Philosopher's Stone for a decade now. I don't even want to know what he did to make Dumbledore recommend him. It'll take twice as long to complete the Stone - it requires half a wizard's lifetime and immense power, but the outcome is worth everything. Horcruxes are nothing compared to a Philosopher's Stone."

"And," Harry heard Snape speak for the first time since his blindfold had come on, "Professor Riddle is a genius when it comes to magical innovation; once he's studied the process, he'll shorten and simplify it and the Chosen will benefit."

"Immortality," Malfoy said, almost dreamily. "Don't you think that's something to strive for, Sirius?"

"It depends on the price," Sirius said.

"Tom Riddle is the most powerful and famous wizard in Britain, and once Dumbledore dies, he'll have his pick between Headmaster of Hogwarts and Minister of Magic. Hell, they'll probably give him both." Malfoy paused. "Would you really reject such an ally?"

Another pause, before Harry heard Sirius reply, in a bored tone, "I thought you'd promised us a show, Lucius? Not a lecture."

"Oh, I'll try to make it both," Malfoy snarled.

Harry heard the distinct rustle of Malfoy's robes sliding to the ground, but found himself enveloped in the folds of Malfoy's long cloak. It fell over Harry's shoulders, framing his front while shielding Malfoy's own body from sight.

Malfoy brushed up against Harry's arse again, and this time there was no layer of cloth between them. Malfoy's cool skin rubbed against Harry's broiled back, obviously enjoying the heat radiating from Harry's flesh. Harry moaned when the length of Malfoy's cock pressed against his bruised crack, less rough but by no means any less insistent than the flogger handle had been.

Then Malfoy pushed between his legs for real, lifting him onto his toes before wrapping an arm around his middle to pull him close. Harry's legs spread involuntarily as the man's cock slid into him, slicked with something, but nowhere as much as Sirius had been.

Harry's breath hitched as Malfoy opened him and forced his way past groaning muscles in two deep thrusts that shook Harry's entire frame. It burned, but the persistent ache in Harry's cock drowned out the worst of it just like the potion and Sirius's care had before. His pelvis jutted forward as Malfoy pounded into him in long, greedy strokes that reverberated in his throat.

Malfoy's arm around him slipped and Harry heard a metallic click when the bastard flicked his nail against the stork-thing a split second before fire shot up Harry's slit. Answering Harry's frantic groan with one of his own, Malfoy wrapped his finger around Harry's prick, which by now had to be a garish shade of purple and was so hard that Harry was glad he couldn't see it.

He let out another scream, feeling rawness in his throat that told him he'd screamed too much already. He struggled madly against Malfoy, unmindful that the bastard used the momentum to impale him even deeper on his cock. But Malfoy only massaged Harry's prick until every touch was pure agony, and the silver bill pushed down harder the more its sheath was stimulated.

"You can beg out," Malfoy hissed, breathless in the spiral of his own pleasure, but Harry's nerves were so fired, the pressure so all-encompassing, that he couldn't have found the strength to speak even if his mind had supplied the words.

He cried and held on, letting Malfoy's thrusts shake him like a rag doll until even that added to his desperate arousal. He only wanted to come, or die.

"Finite Incantatem!" he heard Malfoy roar and the constriction around the root of his prick vanished in an endless moment of bliss.

Harry felt his pelvis pump the air in a spasm of liberation; his balls drew up and seized, and he could actually feel them discharge, the sense of relief was so all-compassing. His cock started to twitch, and Harry threw his head back onto Malfoy's shoulder and screamed as the spill caught around the stork's beak and slowed, trying to push out between the metal and the bruised walls of his slit. Pressure surged, and a few hot drops squeezed out around the wider end of the bill, but not enough to offer the sense of release he craved above all else. Fighting madly against the rope and Malfoy's brutal hold, he hardly felt Malfoy spill himself inside his arse with a satisfied hiss. If anything, he held Harry even tighter for endless moments in which Harry saw colours bursting against the insides of his eyelids.

"Please," he whimpered, but the sound died in a wet gurgle in his throat while Malfoy rode out his pleasure in tiny jabs inside Harry's arse, too preoccupied to notice Harry going mad under his hands.

A scrape of nail over metal was all the warning Harry got before the silver stork tugged its bill out of his slit with a few nasty jerks, followed by a spurt of come, before first one, then the other minuscule foot released Harry's crown. A last push and a squeak of silver wings before it took flight like a helicopter taking off right before a volcano eruption. It felt like one too; Harry's body spasmed as his cock released the held-up come in a burst so intense it was painful. A delirious pain, wild and mad and leaving Harry to twist in his bonds like a hanged man in his death convulsion as his cock sprayed his belly and, undoubtedly, the tiles before him with sticky liquid. He sobbed with relief although the ropes cut the skin of his wrists to raw shreds. In some vague backroom of his mind he was aware of the sloppy squelch of Malfoy pulling out of him.

Then Malfoy caught him around the waist and the rope vanished from his wrists. He collapsed against Malfoy, shoulder muscles aching so abysmally when he eased his arms down that, for a moment, he thought they'd been transfigured into knives. He cradled his arms against his chest, trying to avoid his abused nipples in the process, and let the man pull him down onto the discarded cloak.

The cloak was warm and cushioned him from the tiles, and at first Harry didn't notice the hand on his cock, the way Malfoy painted circles of come on the exhausted length. Then a warm mouth closed around the wet head and Harry realised that he hadn't gone flaccid yet, and that Malfoy was actively making sure it wouldn't happen any time soon either. Harry grimaced. He was sore and totally drained, and Malfoy had had his pleasure, so why would he want to manipulate him again? He lay there, discomfort mounting as Malfoy took his mouth off Harry's prick but didn't stop stroking. Instead, he squeezed insistently and slipped his other hand down to brush Harry's balls.

Harry gave an unwilling "Hng!", too winded to actually move. It stung, but then Malfoy's fingertips strayed to his perineum and gently stroked away the remaining redness the flogger had left there, until Harry felt his cock tingling and rising up once more. Malfoy petted it, lavishing attention on the fattening head while keeping away from the bruised slit.

Arousal crawled into Harry's belly, a detached feeling of want that was nothing like the overwhelming ache he'd felt before. His cock responded, and there was even a flush of warmth in his balls, but all he really wanted was for Malfoy to let go of him and fuck off. There was just no sense in doing this.

Malfoy knelt down next to him and scooped Harry up into his lap, keeping his hand on Harry's cock and tugging without mercy until Harry squirmed and felt his spine arch a little, pushing into the come-spattered palm even as all his muscles protested. Digging a rounded nail between foreskin and crown, Malfoy coaxed the head out again to full prominence, interspersed with hard tugs on the length, a steady stimulation that finally made Harry's balls tighten a little.

His cock jerked, a short, painful contraction, and a little bit of spunk shot out, adding another stain to the sticky mess on Harry's chest. Harry groaned as he rode out the sensation. It was quick and unfulfilling, and his body sagged into Malfoy as if he'd been clubbed over the head.

The man chuckled and hooked a finger into Harry's blindfold, tugging it off with a quick move and examining it. The vile grin told Harry that it had to be soaking wet, and that Malfoy was pleased he'd made him cry.

Propping himself up on his arms, Harry squinted around and crinkled his nose when he saw the mess he'd made of himself - splattered with come, sticky with sweat, his prick still a bright red from whipping and over-stimulation. There were pink and red welts all over his chest and legs.

He groaned and tried to crawl off Malfoy's lap, but the bastard held him back. "You're not done yet, boy."

Smirking at Harry's uncomprehending frown, Malfoy leaned down to place a mocking kiss on the tip of Harry's prick, followed by a thorough suck. Harry wailed inwardly. This was too much and it hurt! He tried to push Malfoy's head away, wishing he could just grab the snobbish blond braid and pull. Malfoy reared up, thwacked Harry's knuckles and bent him backwards to bite at his throat. "Or do you want to beg?"

Teeth clenched as if under a jaw-locker curse, Harry allowed Malfoy to bend him forward, exposing his arse again. A finger poked his balls from behind; they shrank back into their skin, as unwilling to be touched Harry himself. Malfoy's wand brushed his hole, eliciting a momentary shudder of fear before a viscous glob of liquid filled his channel and ran down his thighs. Malfoy urged him forward on hands and knees; but instead of the blunt head of his cock as Harry had feared, Malfoy shoved two fingers into him at once, slippery with gel and pushing through the distended channel without resistance. The stuff was warm and pleasant, probably laced with a painkilling potion since Harry experienced no discomfort whatsoever.

Malfoy's fingers twisted deeply inside him, and suddenly brushed that spot again that had made Harry flail before. Having found it, Malfoy made very sure not to touch it again directly - he brushed by it, past it, around it until Harry's breath began to wheeze from the jolts of exquisite pleasure, rolling his hips back into the touch and all the while wishing it had no effect on his prick.

He hung his head and sobbed as Malfoy reached around with his unoccupied hand, first stroking Harry's perineum, then tickling his uncooperative balls a little, before wrapping around his cock again.

The heat Malfoy kindled in his prostate shot up his spine and seemed intent on exploding his head from the inside; but Harry's balls hurt, his cock ached, raw and bruised and so far beyond wanting that Harry couldn't have hated Malfoy more if he'd just ripped the bloody thing off. There was nothing left to give, and still it tried, fuelled by the intense stimulation in Harry's depths.

Harry dug his nails into the expensive fabric of Malfoy's cloak. His spine arched under the slick press of Malfoy's fingers inside him until he pleaded and whimpered to be allowed to come, not to be forced to come.

Orgasm shot white-hot through his skull, a mad burst of ecstasy in his arse that enveloped his groin in a flood of heat without wringing more from his prick than a feeble twitch and two or three drops of come. They struggled out of the slit and dried there, painful even in such minuscule quantities.

"Good boy," Malfoy murmured and tugged his fingers free, rolling Harry, who had collapsed in total exhaustion, onto his back.

There was such a wild look of mirth on Malfoy's face that Harry shivered despite being too worn to lift a finger. The man's face was flushed, his braid coming loose at the loops.

Harry's eyes went wide with horror when Malfoy cheerfully inspected his flaming groin, then stuck out a fingertip to stroke the gaping red slit.

"No!" he protested, knowing that being stimulated there once more would probably kill him for real. Wouldn't his heart give out under so much strain?

"No?" Malfoy asked, cocking his head and teasing the crown of Harry's prick until his entire groin seemed to draw inwards, away from the touch.

"Please, I'm begging you!" Harry whispered brokenly. Tears filled in his eyes again.

Malfoy hummed and ran his nail down the length of Harry's cock, petting a swollen vein with a regretful expression. Then he took his hand away and stood up. Harry curled up into a protective ball around his prick, unable to cup it with his hands, but feeling better for it nonetheless.

Malfoy reached for his wand and cast a cleaning charm which first rushed over him and then, after a moment's consideration, over Harry as well. Harry shuddered, because even magic was too much sensation on his inflamed bits, then crawled to his feet like a thousand-year-old man, pain lacing his entire lower body.

"Not so tough after all," Malfoy commented dismissively after another spell had his robes re-form around his limbs without the inconvenience of dressing. Even his much-abused cloak looked pristine again.

"He still won his freedom," Sirius said, and Harry thought he could see a touch of pride in his expression.

"Perhaps not."

Malfoy swung around in one fluid move, laying his wand across Harry's throat where it shuddered and blurred and shortened until it wasn't a piece of wood any longer but a long, wicked knife that kissed the hollow of Harry's throat.

Harry held himself rigid, more still than he'd been under Petrificus. He could feel the sharp tingle of the blade, not cutting, just threatening, deceptively innocent.

The room filled with dead silence. Regulus crouched at the very edge of his seat, a hand on his wand, Snape stopping him cold with a hand on his arm. Sirius sat in his armchair without moving a muscle. Only Rabastan leaned back comfortably on the couch and crossed his legs. None of them looked as if they planned to interfere any time soon.

"I think the moment has come for you to make a decision, Sirius." Malfoy said. "Do you want your dear 'godson's' blood spilled just to spite your Head of House and benefactor? Or will you join Slytherin's Chosen after all."

"There was a promise made to the boy," Sirius said.

"There were other promises made and broken," Malfoy shot back. "You know all about it."

"I never broke a promise!" Harry could see Sirius's affected calm cracking, and rage welling up.

"There is such a thing as loyalty to be expected from a protege, even more so from a lover."

"You presumed too much, didn't you?" Sirius asked, all silky threat. "You told Him that you had lured your prize into your web beyond any thought of escape, that He wouldn't even have to ask, that you'd deliver me on a silver platter? And now you have nothing to show, and are getting desperate."

Pulling Harry's head back to expose his throat, Malfoy let out a harsh laugh. "Hardly. And don't forget that it was you who lured me into bed. You don't want to commit to anyone because you want to be your own little centre of the universe, don't you, Black? That's why you're so fond of this little fool here." The knife dug in a little deeper, and Harry felt a single drop of blood run down his neck. "You love being adored."

"No," Sirius said coldly. "I think Dumbledore and Riddle have been playing their game with our world - and against each other - for decades. And I won't become a chess piece for either of them." Visibly struggling for control, he added, "I will support Riddle's policies as the Head of the House of Black. I won't work against him unless he forces my hand. And at the end of the year he'll have my brother, because Regulus wants to be His so badly - but he won't have me."

"It's not enough," Malfoy snapped, pink with anger. "This is not about Riddle; it's about you."

Sirius's face turned mask-like in a way that made Harry's heart chill in a mixture of dread and pity.

"Then no, Lucius. I will not join him, whether you kill this child or not."

"You'll value your freedom over an innocent's life?" Malfoy smiled thinly.

"Yes. Like any good Slytherin would."

"Do you hear that, boy?" Malfoy asked, rubbing his cheek against Harry's and tightening his hold. "That's Sirius Black for you."

"I wouldn't want him to." Harry felt his breath slither over Malfoy's arm at his throat, stirring near-invisible blond hairs. He was cold with fear. "I wouldn't want anyone to join Vol- Tom Riddle for my sake."

"So much do you love him?" Malfoy's breath tickled Harry's neck as he whispered into his ear. Softly, but not softly enough for Sirius to miss.

"I love my godfather," Harry said flatly. "Not this." And all the while calling himself a liar and wishing it were that easy. He did not look at Sirius to see whether his words had left an impression.

Malfoy laughed knowingly. The blade at Harry's throat transformed back into wood, and then Harry felt himself flung forward, away from Malfoy, to struggle for balance in the middle of the room.

"Have it your way, Sirius, if you are so determined. I doubt it will bring you happiness." Malfoy turned and held a hand out to Snape, summoning his cloak with the other. "It seems our business here is concluded. Will you join me for a nightcap, Severus?"

There was no way of misreading the awareness that he was used to make a point on Snape's ugly face. He hovered in his chair for a second, then he rose, went up to Malfoy and took his hand without a glance at Regulus or anybody else.

Malfoy fastened his cloak at his throat, and inclined his head to Rabastan Lestrange. The Apparition pop that vanished both him and Snape rang far too loud in the suddenly over-large room.

Sirius's face had turned into an icy mask that in itself revealed how badly he must hurt. Finally, he nodded at Harry. "You're free to go, Potter. But I think you'd better take your clothes."

Flushing brightly and ignoring the multiple aches in his body, Harry dashed over to the empty chair his clothes, robe and glasses had been piled on. He stumbled into pants, trousers and shirt with trembling fingers, struggling with his trainers and finally pulling his robe around his shoulders, all without looking up once.

When he was dressed, his eyes dashed through the room and found Sirius standing next to Lestrange, who held the disk of the Time Spinner in both hands. Regulus hovered behind the sofa, watching them.

Sirius crooked his finger at Harry. Careful not to come too close to any of them, Harry made his way over.

"We put a reverting time film around the thing that may keep the damage at bay if you use it again," Lestrange said, very matter-of-factly now. "At least it won't get worse. Who knows - you might get lucky."

Handing the Spinner to Harry, Sirius smiled thinly. "Never fear - he's a perverted bastard, but extraordinarily good with magical artefacts."

Harry pulled the chain back over his head, almost unable to take his hand off the Spinner's filigree circles. He nodded, once.

After a tense moment of silence, broken only when Lestrange leaned around Sirius to pick up his champagne flute, Sirius said, "Good-bye, then, Harry Potter. My brother will escort you out."

Without another nod, without even a final glance at Sirius Black who wasn't Sirius, but could have been oh-so-easily, Harry turned on his heel and walked to the door.

~ * ~ * ~

Walking was agony. Even managing the three hundred feet or so through the length of Grimmauld Place behind Regulus sent stabs of agony through Harry's lower body with every step. His prick and balls felt raw, chafing against his jeans. He could smell them on him still, and the sticky oil on his buttocks and thighs, the welts on his arse, the throbbing nipples. Soiled all over.

Regulus led him to the entrance hall without a backward glance. Then, just before Harry could step into the hall, the boy turned, both hands coming up against the sides of the wall, trapping Harry in the corridor. The smooth face was determined.

"What is it?" Harry snarled, feeling a burn in his eyes that only fuelled his anger. "You want a piece of me too? Do you think that matters now - one more or less?" His innards clenched at the thought, but rage came spilling out too strong. He let the robe he'd clutched to his throat spill open and gave a dark laugh when Regulus recoiled. "What, don't you want to be like them?"

Regulus's features congealed into an unreadable mask. "I am like them, Potter."

Facing him directly, Harry realised that this was very much the young man who, in Harry's past, had joined Voldemort only to betray him and steal a piece of his soul right out of a death trap before his 'friends' caught up with him. He recalled the way he'd stood alongside Snape, hand on his wand, and wondered. Not so much like Malfoy after all, who wouldn't have managed this poker face without malice spilling out at the seams.

"I want a kiss from you, Potter." The words were cool, disdainful even, but the meaning made Harry blink. "Like you gave my brother. Like you mean it."

Harry didn't bother to suppress his snort even as he refused to ponder the implications. "I want an answer in return," he challenged.

"Of course." Regulus nodded coolly.

Determined not to be made a victim again, not even for something so minor in comparison, Harry stepped right into Regulus's personal space until his body was pressed against the other boy's. He took Regulus's face between his hands and crushed his mouth against his. There was no shred of softness; Harry's lips were rigid with rage, stony with the effort of holding unwanted sobs at bay, and Regulus's stiff with pride. Harry forced the boy's lips apart with his tongue, and felt Regulus open his mouth in what might be shock. Harry shoved his tongue into the warm cavern, aware that he had to taste of other people's come, but finding quite a bit of satisfaction in acquainting Sirius's brother with it.

He slid his hand from Regulus's cheek to his neck, feeling the bony curve of his skull and wrapping fingers into the soft curls there before tugging at them sharply just as his tongue licked a scornful swipe along Regulus's own. If nothing else, it made Regulus kiss back at last, his nose crinkled in anger like Crookshanks's when someone petted him too roughly.

The weight of Regulus's body stung his abraded skin in strategic places, and yet Harry felt a triumphant swoop in the pit of his stomach as the boy's lips softened. He scraped his teeth along the side of Regulus's tongue, fusing their mouths together with a grip on Regulus's neck that had to bruise. He could taste wine and an un-spoiledness he'd never be able to match again. He let go abruptly, leaving Regulus to stumble back a step with dark, wide eyes.

Harry wiped his mouth with the back of his hand in a gesture that was calculatedly cruel.

"If you had to hide something worth your life and more in this place, where would you put it?"

A frown appeared between the boy's dark brows. Lucius Malfoy, Harry knew, would void their 'deal' for delivering anything but the kiss that had been requested. Regulus just asked, "How big?"

Instinctively, Harry touched the Time Spinner around his neck. "Small. Way smaller than this."

The frown deepened. "I'll not have you snoop around my house-"

"Not now!" Harry snapped impatiently before adding, "Not here!" for good measure, fingers still curved around the delicate layers of the Spinner.

"There's a portrait of my mother," Regulus said hesitantly. "In an ancient gold frame..."

Harry nodded impatiently. Mrs Black's portrait wasn't something you would forget.

"There's a secret compartment at the back of the frame where mother kept her heirloom jewels." Regulus's face took on an absent look as if he, too, was lost in time. "I used to sit on her bed and watch her getting ready to go out. She showed me how to open it, and let me keep my gold gobstones inside." He smiled, a bit wistfully.

"And Kreacher knew about it?" Harry asked.

"That elf? Well, he was my mother's personal servant, he must have."

Hope glowed warmly inside Harry's stomach like a draught of butterbeer on a winter's day. He clutched the Time Spinner tighter.

"Does the payment satisfy you?" Regulus asked, very formally.

Harry hesitated, then nodded. "I guess it's the best I can get."

"And you paid dearly for it, didn't you." Regulus leaned forward and caught Harry's lips in another kiss, a feather-soft, supremely chaste brush of mouths, before standing aside. He held out Harry's wand.

Harry glared into the boy's face, so secure and smug in the shelter of his home, so like his brother, and all but ripped the wand from his fingers. He recalled Hermione's earnest admonitions for secrecy, and discarded them with a sneer. This was not his past! His godfather would never have raped him just because he'd walked in, or fed him to his bored friends like a bone of contention tossed before a litter of wrangling dogs.

"I wouldn't join him, if I were you," he said coldly as the door swung open to a gush of icy night wind and the twinkle of a snake fang in the lamp light. "Riddle," he clarified when Regulus's forehead twisted into a frown. "Where I come from, he killed you."

And then he stepped outside into the cold, leaving Regulus's confused face and disturbed questions behind. He walked down the three stairs and onto the pavement of Grimmauld Place without looking back, not listening whether the door closed or not behind him. It didn't matter.

He walked up the road until he found a dark entryway littered with rubbish, and stepped into the shadows.

~ * ~ * ~

Ten hours, twenty years and an unknown number of time and reality fragments later, the portrait of Walburga Black, banished to the attic of number twelve Grimmauld Place by the combined efforts of Remus Lupin and Alastor Moody, quietly observed the half-blood boy kneeling beside her frame among dust and spiderwebs, holding the small ebony box he'd taken from its back with shaking hands.

Perhaps the grief that shook the boy's slender shoulders was too strong, too self-contained to interrupt with recriminations. Or perhaps some vague maternal instinct, soaked into the canvas along with its magical paint, told her that some of these tears were shed for her own favourite child, and more for the other.

The mechanism clicked open under his dirty fingers. He lifted out the heavy gold locket that her mad house-elf, Kreacher, had put inside a few weeks ago amidst crazy muttering. She hadn't seen the creature for quite some time; perhaps it had lost its mind altogether and forgotten its old mistress. They really should be culled once they were too old to be of use.

The boy's face was raw as he stared at the locket, torn between what looked like the fulfilment of his heart's desire and the revulsion one reserved for a poisonous toad. Tears shone on his face, leaving tracks on his cheeks he seemed perfectly unaware of.

Of course this impure abomination could never equal the honest depth of a pureblood's grief, but it touched her somehow, reminding her of the loss of her own son who once, in happier times, had played with the jewels inside her treasure box while laughing and bouncing on her bed.

She could honour the young man's anguish in this moment of privacy; if not in spirit, then at least in silence.

~ finis ~


End file.
